Vigilante
by InfinityStar
Summary: What can a person do when the justice system fails them? And what can a peace officer do when everything is thrown in his face, and he can't find fault with actions and decisions his training tells him are wrong but his heart tells him are not?
1. An Unusual Request

Robert Goren opened his second beer and leaned back on the couch to watch the news. It was rare that he got to watch the five o'clock news. Some days he didn't have a chance to make the eleven o'clock news. But Captain Ross had given him and Eames a few well-deserved days off after tying up the loose ends of their last case, his first case back since his mother's death. It was good to be back to work. He had missed it; he had missed Eames. But this had been a case that had taken a great deal of time, and it was nice to have a few days to regroup away from the squad room--and the captain.

The broadcast opened with a breaking news update. Slowly, he sat upright, setting his beer bottle on the coffee table, attention riveted to the television screen. A stocky, unkempt man in orange coveralls was being led from the courthouse by two plainclothes detectives. He recognized the two first-grades from Manhattan SVU, Elliot Stabler and his partner Olivia Benson. He turned up the volume as the newscaster reported: "William Landis, currently standing trial for the February murder of ten-year-old Jeffrey Markham,--" A smiling picture of the little boy in a baseball uniform appeared in the upper left hand corner of the screen. "--is shown here being escorted down the courthouse steps following his arraignment last month. Less than an hour ago, being led down these same stairs at the conclusion of the third day of his Manhattan trial, Landis was shot by an unknown assailant."

The scene on the screen changed to show people scrambling frantically for cover as Landis fell to the ground. After a moment of confusion, cops began to respond. In the background, he noticed Stabler and John Munch, also an SVU detective, along with the ADA they worked with, the one who took over after Cabot was murdered...Novak, he thought her name was.

He reached for his phone, which rang as he lifted it from the table. _Eames cell._ He flipped it open. "Are you watching the news?"

_Yes. What do you make of it?_

"I'm not sure."

He heard the interruption of signal that told him she had another call. _Oh, look, the captain. What a surprise. I'll call you right back, but maybe you should get ready to meet me at the courthouse._

"Yeah, okay."

He closed the phone and headed for the bedroom to put on a clean suit.

* * *

Just over an hour later, he was pointing out a spent casing in the gutter not far from where the victim had fallen, watching as a new CSU tech bent over to retrieve it and drop it into an evidence bag. Eames was talking to witnesses. "Goren?"

He turned to face the man who called to him. John Munch extended a hand which Goren accepted. Munch grinned. "John Munch."

"I remember you. Can I help you?"

"We'd like to talk to you and your partner. Can you get away?"

"I suppose so..."

"Finish up here. Do you know where Sullivan's Bar and Grill is?"

"Near your station? Yes."

"Meet us there with Eames when you're through here."

He nodded, his curiosity piqued. "All right. We'll see you there."

They were just wrapping things up when Ross arrived. "What did you find out?" he asked without preamble.

"Not much," Eames replied. "We're following up with witnesses."

"I just got word from Bellevue. Landis didn't make it. This is now a murder investigation."

Eames shook her head as her partner hung back, as was his habit, especially with Ross around. Eames had a better rapport with the captain than he did. She said, "A lot of people saw a lot of nothing. We have a male suspect dressed in black leather, between five-four and five-nine. He was riding a motorcycle and his plate had a five or a two in it. That's it."

Ross looked at Goren. "What do you have?"

"He was firing a 9mm."

"Helpful. Okay. This kid Landis murdered...?"

"Jeffrey Markham," Eames looked at her notepad. "It was Manhattan SVU's case. He was ten, a good athlete, nice kid."

"They're all nice kids after something like this. Touch bases with Cragen's crew and see if they have anything useful to add. I want the kid's parents, grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends...everyone interviewed. If they have no alibi, they're suspects."

Eames frowned, not hazarding a look over her shoulder at her partner. She knew how much he hated anything that bogged down an investigation, and this was as boggy as it got. "That's a lot of people."

"Then I suggest you get busy."

He walked away. Eames looked at her partner. The dark look on his face lifted when he looked at her. "Uh, we need to go over to Sullivan's before we start harassing the kid's family."

"Sullivan's? What for?"

"Ross said to touch bases with Cragen's crew. Let's start touching."

He headed for the car. She trotted after him, confused but willing, as usual, to follow his lead.

* * *

When they entered the bar, Goren searched the establishment, found who he was looking for, and headed through the crowd. Eames followed in his wake before the crowd closed back in behind her. From the snippets of conversation they were able to catch, they realized without surprise that most of the conversation buzzing about them was about the courthouse shooting. The patronage of this bar was mostly cops.

Goren and Eames approached the table where Munch and Stabler waited for them. Munch nodded at the empty seat beside him, which Goren took as soon as his partner was seated beside Stabler. A waitress came by and set drinks in front of the two SVU detectives, looking questioningly at the two new arrivals. "Rum and coke for my partner, scotch on the rocks for me, please," Goren told her.

Once she was gone, Munch addressed them. "Thanks for coming."

"We'll make this short and sweet," Stabler said, both hands wrapped around his drink. "You guys drew the courthouse shooting?"

Eames answered, "Yes. Why?"

Goren added, "You guys were there." Both SVU detectives nodded. "What did you see?"

"Not much of anything," Stabler answered. "There was a lot of media there, crowding out our view of the street."

"The guy was on a motorcycle, skull and crossbones on his helmet," Munch put in. When Stabler looked at him, he shrugged. "I'm taller than you are."

"What's going on here, guys?" Eames asked.

"Look," Stabler answered. "You guys didn't work the Markham case. This was a sweet kid, and Landis tortured and murdered him. That kid didn't die an easy death. I'm not saying I condone vigilantism, but in this case, the guy got what he deserved."

Munch nodded in agreement. "Life in prison would have been a reward for Landis. He's been in and out of jail since he was twelve, and he preferred being in. I testified at his parole hearing last year. They never should have let him out, and I was right. Sometimes I hate being right."

Stabler went on. "This was the worst kind of scrub. My partner and I arrested him and interrogated him. Liv couldn't stomach the beast, which is why Munch is here with me today and not her. Oh, she was here during the opening statements the other day. When his lawyer put out that cock and bull story about his battered childhood and misunderstood adulthood, she left and she hasn't been back. The son of a bitch boasted about what he did to that poor kid. He was fucking proud of himself. Misunderstood, my ass."

Munch grinned. "My partner and I are taking turns. The captain doesn't quite trust Elliot's temper, so Fin and I get to babysit."

"So what's the point of asking us to meet you here?" Eames asked. She glanced at her partner, whose dark expression told her he had an idea. So did she.

The response to her question was delayed by the arrival of their drinks. When they were again alone, Stabler said, "There won't be much mourning over this guy's passing, let me tell you. I can get you a copy of Jeff's file. What Landis did to that poor kid...just read the coroner's report. That's bad enough. What this bastard has to say about it...that's worse."

"Why do you think we need to know about the Markham case?" Goren asked. "Beyond interviewing his family members, it's really not relevant to our case."

"You're going to trouble his mother about this? Come on, guys, the poor woman's been through enough. She was hospitalized for three weeks after they found Jeff's body. This has been hard enough for her. Now you're going to interview her as a suspect in this?"

Eames' suspicions were growing. "We're going to do our job, Stabler."

Munch spoke up. "And we'd never interfere with that. What we want to know is: what are you planning to do with this case?"

"Solve it," Goren replied simply.

"Why?"

He raised his eyebrows at Stabler. "Because that's what we do, Stabler. We solve crimes and this was a crime."

The SVU cop bristled at Goren's tone and Eames kicked her partner under the table, delivering a silent warning with her eyes. The last thing they needed was word of a fight getting back to Ross. He'd go postal on her partner...again. Munch spoke again. "Okay, technically, yes. This was a crime."

"Technically?"

Stabler's voice was low and menacing. "This was _justice_, Goren. Plain and simple. The guy that did this deserves a fucking medal. Back off the case and let it go."

"We can't do that," Eames answered before Goren had a chance to. "You know that. If it was just us, then maybe. But we have a captain to answer to, just like you do."

"This isn't about Jeff Markham," Goren added. "It's not about justice, or even about Landis. This is about the department. A suspect in our custody was murdered on our watch. It gives us a black eye. That's the bottom line."

"Screw that," Stabler snapped. "Don't get all high and mighty. Landis got the justice he deserved, and it was better than anything the court could have given him."

"We aren't going to argue that point," Eames said in a reasonable tone. Her partner's social grace was going to cause problems if she didn't nip this in the bud. "But our captain isn't going to let us drop it. If it was given to us, then this case came from the brass. We have a job to do, just like you guys do."

"So you make it look good and then tell them you can't find the guy," Munch answered, shrugging. "It's a needle in a haystack anyway."

"I have a strong magnet," Goren muttered.

Another blow to the shin and he frowned at Eames, who ignored him as she addressed the other two detectives. "We won't argue that Landis got what was coming to him. But we can't let people take the law into their own hands. You guys know that."

"This is one case," Stabler said reasonably. "How much damage can it do to your solve rate?"

"You think that's what this is about?" Goren asked. "I don't give a damn about statistics, Stabler. I just do my job. We can't pick and choose the people we prosecute. A crime is a crime and wrong is still wrong." He downed the last of his drink. "I'll meet you outside, Eames."

He tossed a ten on the table and walked away. Eames was relieved. She felt like she was sitting on a powderkeg, tossing sparks in every direction. Stabler pointed at Munch. "I told you this was a waste of time."

Munch ignored him and spoke to Eames. "Don't think we do this as a matter of course. We're on the same side here."

Eames nodded. "Sometimes, my partner's view of the world is black and white. He shuts out the shades of gray in between. Maybe we are chasing our tails here, but we can't condone vigilantism. Suppose someone else had been injured or killed? Those are the people we're protecting: the innocent, not the guilty." She slid out of the booth and looked at Stabler. "Send me Jeff's file."

"What about your partner?"

"What about him?"

"What will it matter to him?"

"Everything matters to him, Stabler."

She walked away from the booth and left the bar.


	2. Not A Popularity Contest

Judy Markham was a young woman with an air of grief about her. Her dark hair already sported strands of gray and her eyes had shed far too many tears. She wore an old pair of Levis and a comfortable t-shirt under a white apron and continued to work at the counter in spite of the two police detectives sitting at her kitchen table. She set a tomato, a bell pepper, and a handful of mushrooms on a paper towel beside her cutting board, but her hands were shaking and she was having a hard time with the vegetables. As she held the pepper and braced the knife against it, tears blurred her eyes. She was surprised when a large hand folded over hers just as the knife slid down the side of the pepper toward her hand, stopping it short of slicing into her skin. That would have been a nasty cut. She relinquished the knife when he touched the handle. "Let me help you," he said gently. "Are you chopping or dicing?"

"Just chopping."

He set down the knife and guided her to his abandoned chair. After meeting his partner's eyes, he stepped to the sink to wash his hands before he began chopping the vegetables for the still-grieving mother.

Judy looked from one detective to the other, her composure regained. "I hope you are not here to seek sympathy for the monster who took my son from me."

"Of course not," Eames assured her.

Goren looked up from the green pepper. "We're just doing our job, Mrs. Markham."

"If you ask me, whoever killed that monster did everyone a favor. He saved the taxpayers a great deal of money and my family a great deal of grief."

Eames nodded. "We understand why you feel that way. All we need to know is where you were yesterday afternoon."

"I was right here, detective. A house does not keep itself and dinner does not prepare itself. I have a husband and two other children to take care of."

"How old are the children?" Eames asked.

"Eight and five. They're in school. When your 'victim' was shot, I was picking up my son from soccer practice. Before that, I was right here, helping my daughter make cookies for her class." She took a napkin from the holder and wiped at a spot on the immaculate surface. "I can't tell you how difficult the last 8 months have been. Last month, Jeff would have been 11."

"We're very sorry."

She nodded, gratefully accepting Eames' offer of sympathy. She got the impression that these two detectives were in a difficult spot, investigating a murder the public-at-large applauded. "I have no desire to relive my son's murder, detectives. The only reason I would have gone near the courthouse would be if Ms. Novak needed my testimony. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Goren looked up from the cutting board. "Uh, does your husband have a motorcycle?"

"A what?"

"A motorcycle."

"Of course not."

"Has he ever had one?"

"Not that I know of. I don't think Tony even knows how to drive one."

Eames added, "Is he at work?"

"Yes."

"We'll need to talk to him, too."

"He works for the Hudson County District Attorney in Jersey City."

Goren set down the knife, leaving three neat piles of chopped vegetables for her. He rinsed his hands, dried them on a paper towel and stepped toward the table as Eames got to her feet. His tone was apologetic. "We won't take any more of your time, Mrs. Markham. I'm sorry we disturbed you."

Eames gave her a sympathetic smile. "We can see ourselves out."

As they passed through the living room, Goren stopped to look at the pictures displayed on the shelves of a large entertainment center. "Eames."

He indicated a picture of a young man in black leather, sitting on a motorcycle. She asked, "Dad?"

He shook his head, pointing to the family portrait above the fireplace across the room. "No. But there is a family resemblance to Mrs. Markham. Her brother, I'll bet." He opened his binder and looked at the list of family members. "Brad Connelly."

Eames nodded. "Let's go talk to Uncle Brad."

* * *

They tracked Brad Connelly down to an inner city basketball court, where he was engaged in a hard game with a group of older teenagers. When the ball went out of bounds near the two detectives, Goren grabbed it. One of the young men who was running after the ball stopped short and backed up a few steps. "Whoa...cops..." 

Connelly approached them. He held up his hands to receive the ball. "We need to talk to you, Mr. Connelly," Goren said as he passed the ball to him.

"Sure." He tossed the ball to the waiting teen. "I'll be right back, guys."

He trotted to a bench where he picked up a towel and wiped off his face. After running it over his hair, he tossed it back onto the bench and took a long drink of Gatorade. "How can I help you?"

He was a young man, with shoulder length dark hair and dark eyes. He had a tattoo of an eagle, talons extended, on his left arm and a black panther on the right. He wore cut-off denim shorts and no shirt, and his well-toned torso was covered with a sheen of sweat. Eames introduced them. "I'm Detective Eames and this is my partner, Detective Goren. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

Connelly studied them. "Is this about yesterday's shooting?"

"Yes."

"Are you here to question me or to accuse me?"

"That depends," Goren answered. "Did you do it?"

"No. But I applaud the guy who did."

"Where were you yesterday afternoon?"

"Right here, until 6:30. I work at the community center on the corner. I was helping the younger kids with their homework and then I tutored two of my high school kids in math and science. I went right home afterwards. My roommate was there when I got home, and I didn't even know about the shooting until Judy called me."

"When was that?"

"I don't know. Around nine, I guess...after the kids were in bed." He took another drink. "So why are we wasting taxpayer money trying to find someone who committed a public service?"

Ignoring the question, Goren asked, "Do you have a motorcycle, Mr. Connelly?"

"I did when I was in college. I graduated this past spring, and I got rid of it in favor of a new sound system and a couple of other things."

"Like what?" Eames asked.

"Bicycles for my sister's kids, repairs for her car, and...oh yeah, my mother's funeral. She was in poor health to start with, and Jeff's murder was more than she could take. We buried her a couple of weeks after he was killed. Anything else, detectives?"

"Uh, we'll need to talk to your roommate."

"Yeah, sure." He gave them the information they requested, said good-bye and returned to his basketball game. As they headed for the car, Eames said, "Let's grab some lunch and head across the river."

* * *

Tony Markham's desk was stacked with books, file folders and papers. The book shelves lining two walls were filled with legal books. A coffee mug adorned with a child's drawing sat at one corner of the desk, filled with pens and pencils. His suit jacket hung on a coatrack in the corner. Markham himself had the typical look of a harried, overworked ADA. His blonde hair laid in waves back from his forehead. Wire-rimmed glasses sat before blue eyes and a neatly trimmed moustache adorned his upper lip. The two detectives sat in the chairs in front of his desk, waiting for him to get off the phone. He leaned back and ran a nervous hand over his hair. "Do I need to ask why two detectives from Manhattan are sitting in my office the day after my son's murderer is killed on the courthouse steps?" 

"You know the spiel, Mr. Markham," Goren replied.

Markham shrugged. "I was here, detectives. I didn't leave the office until just after six. At the time of the shooting, I was in the middle of a deposition."

Eames asked, "Is there anything you can help us with?"

"I'm afraid not. I have no idea who shot Landis." He hesitated. "Look, I know I'm an officer of the court, and you folks are just doing your job, but even if I did know, I doubt I would say anything. My son was a source of great joy for my family, and his death was an even greater loss. Last night was the first night in eight months that my wife did not cry herself to sleep. Now maybe she can start to heal. I spend my life fighting for justice. Yesterday, what happened on those courthouse steps, _that_ was justice. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm due in court in fifteen minutes."

He rose from his chair, grabbed his briefcase and his jacket and left the office. Eames looked at her partner. "Do you get the feeling we're spinning our wheels?"

* * *

It was close to six when the two weary detectives returned to their desks. They'd talked to Jeff's paternal grandparents in Union City before returning to New York to talk with his maternal grandfather in the Bronx. The results were the same: law-abiding citizens with ironclad alibis and more than a little resentment that any resources were being utilized to find the saint who sent Jeffrey's murderer to hell. 

Goren groaned when Ross came out of his office and headed their way. The captain dropped a folded newspaper between the two desks. "Congratulations. You made the evening edition. Page three."

Eames looked at him. "We're not very popular."

"This is a murder investigation, Eames, not a popularity contest. Did you find out anything?"

"No one wants us to find this guy," Goren replied. "He's a hero."

"He's a murderer, Goren. Not finding him is not an option."

Eames looked at the newspaper, then back at the captain. "We're trying."

"Well, try not to make the front page."

He headed back to his office. Goren propped his elbows on his desk and leaned his chin on his hands. Eames watched him; she knew that look and it usually meant trouble. "Bobby?"

"Uh, suppose we do get on the front page?"

"Do you really want to see the captain explode?"

"That would be a sight."

"Bobby..."

He laughed quietly. "Don't worry, Eames. I won't take you down with me."

He gave her a wink and began writing.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, the captain was back. He dropped a notepad in front of Eames. "Our vigilante struck again. Another hit on the courthouse steps. This time he was pursued. They lost him in traffic on the BQE." 

"No air support?" Eames asked.

"In this storm?" Goren muttered. "No one will put a chopper up in this wind."

Ross looked at him and nodded in agreement. "No air support."

"Was this another Manhattan SVU case?" Eames asked

"Yes, it was. Head on over to the courthouse. I'll be there shortly."

As they got into the elevator, Goren asked, "Do you get the feeling he's keeping an eye on us?"

She shook her head and gave him a smile. "He's not watching me." She nudged him, her tone light and teasing. "Better watch your step, partner."

He gave her a sideways glance, but a smile touched the corners of his mouth. "I'll try."

"I feel _so_ much better."


	3. Another Dead End

Elliot Stabler frowned when the two MCS detectives arrived at the courthouse. His frowned deepened when John Munch and Fin Tutuola stepped into the rain to cross the steps and greet them. He didn't mind Eames, but he had a problem with Goren. He didn't trust him, and he wasn't sure how a good cop like Eames could remain partnered with him. Sighing deeply, he turned up his collar and stepped out into the storm to talk to Eames.

Fin smiled in spite of the rain, extending a hand to Goren. "Bobby! It's good to see you, man. How've you been?"

Goren returned the smile and accepted the outstretched hand. "Hello, Fin. I've been okay. You?"

"Good. Sorry to hear about your mom."

"Thanks. This is my partner, Alex Eames."

Fin accepted her hand. "I've heard good things about you. You guys know my lesser half here."

With a quiet laugh, Goren shook Munch's hand. "Long time, no see."

"We really should stop meeting like this. Fin doesn't like competition."

"Shut up, Munch."

Another laugh. Eames enjoyed seeing her partner engage in easy banter with other detectives, unlike the uncomfortable confrontation of the day before. She felt a tension she was not aware she was carrying melt away...until a hand came to rest on her shoulder. Expecting Ross, she turned, surprised to see Elliot Stabler standing there. "Detective Stabler," she said, feeling the tension return. She stepped away from her partner. "Were you here for the trial?"

"No. I was supposed to meet someone for dinner."

"Did you see the shooting?"

"Eames..." Goren frowned when he saw Stabler, but for his partner's sake he nodded at the SVU detective. "Hello, Stabler."

"Goren."

Eames looked at her partner as he said, "There's nothing for us to do here. The rain drove any witnesses for cover. We're going to the diner down the street with Fin and John to discuss it." He looked at Stabler. "You can join us if you want."

"Thanks," Stabler snapped, not sounding grateful at all to be offered inclusion.

Eames saw the reply in her partner's eyes and cut him off a half second before he said something that would have caught her in the middle of another uncomfortable confrontation. "That sounds like a plan. We'll see you there, Elliot."

She steered Goren off through the rain toward the car. Once out of the weather, she turned to him. "I am not going to get caught in some kind of macho display between you and Stabler, do you understand me?"

"What did I do?"

"Nothing yet. That's why I'm warning you. Yesterday was uncomfortable enough. So unless you want another bruise on your shin, behave."

"Maybe I won't sit across from you."

"Even better," she grinned.

He had the good sense to be worried as she started the car and pulled away from the curb.

* * *

Goren and Eames approached the booth where the three SVU detectives waited for them. She grabbed a chair from a nearby empty table and sat in it, forcing her partner into the booth beside Munch, directly across from Stabler.

After ordering coffee, the five detectives studied one another before Eames finally said, "So what did you guys see?"

Munch answered, "The same thing we saw yesterday: a guy in black leather on a motorcycle pulled up as they were leading Hernandez out of the courthouse, popped him and took off. A couple of units left in pursuit..."

Goren nodded his head. "They lost him on the BQE."

"Imagine that."

A brief amused smile touched his mouth. "Whose case was this one?"

"Mine and Munch's," Fin replied.

Goren looked at Stabler. "And you were here for moral support?"

He winced when his partner's boot nailed him. Stabler's eyes narrowed. "No. I was meeting someone. It was pure coincidence that I was here today."

"Who were you meeting?"

"It's personal and none of your damn business."

"Don't be a jerk, Elliot," Fin warned. "He was meeting Casey Novak."

Goren raised an eyebrow and Stabler's look dared him to make a big deal out of it. If he were being honest, Goren would admit he wanted to know more, but one look from his partner and his curiosity diminished. So he decided to ignore Stabler and he shifted his gaze to Fin. "Tell us about the case."

"Hernandez was on trial for the rape and murder of a little girl. At the time, he was out on parole. He did four years for raping three women, all positive IDs. The little girl was his niece, and it was her birthday. He claimed he was just trying to keep her quiet when he killed her. Suffocated her with a pillow."

Goren studied his former squadmate with interest. "How do you do it, Fin? How do you deal with cases like this all the time?"

"Someone's gotta do it."

"Do you miss narcotics?"

"Sometimes. Do you?"

He shrugged. "Not so often. I like Major Case." His eyes unconsciously shifted toward his partner. "It was a good move for me."

"You like the pressure of high profile cases?"

"I like the challenge of the cases we get."

Fin smiled. "Yeah, I bet you do."

Goren looked beside him at Munch. "Anything to add, John?"

The older detective shook his head. "Not really. It was almost a reenactment of yesterday's shooting."

Stabler asked, "How is the investigation going?"

There was something in his tone that set Goren on edge and Eames tensed. She hoped he would look her way, but he didn't. He was studying Stabler with that intense, scrutinizing look he usually reserved for the interrogation room. Stabler was glaring right back at him. _Great,_ she thought. _An alpha dog competition. Just what I need._

When the arrival of the waitress went unnoticed by the two men and she realized Munch and Fin were ignoring them—_Thanks a lot, guys_—she realized she was on her own to nip this in the bud, before it became a real problem...a problem that Ross would have to deal with. That thought alone was enough to spur her into action. Hoping he would forgive her, she touched her partner's knee, raking her nails past it along his thigh and back. She had to give him credit; he didn't launch himself from the table and bolt for the door. But it did end the staring contest when he snapped his head toward her, eyes wide with surprise. She met his surprise with a defiant challenge, running a single finger in a circle just above his knee. He frowned a warning, which she met with a silent one of her own.

The SVU detectives had no idea an entire conversation had taken place in the silent span of a minute and a half. Goren shifted his attention back to the group and Eames withdrew her hand. _Confrontation avoided,_ she patted herself on the back.

Goren once again dared a look in Stabler's direction. "If you're asking whether we talked to Jeff's family, yes, we did."

Stabler looked at Munch. "I told you we were wasting our breath yesterday."

Eames jumped in before Goren could say something that would lead to blows. He was a master at pushing buttons, and Stabler's buttons were glowing bright red, right in his face...not a temptation Goren could resist for long. She said, "We're doing our job, Elliot. We don't have the luxury of picking and choosing the cases we're given based on public opinion. Two men were murdered. The actions of their lives are irrelevant to our case."

"So if Charlie Manson was murdered and your captain put you on the case..."

"We would find the guy who killed him," Goren finished.

Stabler glared at him for a long, tense moment. Then he rose, tossed a couple of bills on the table and left the diner. Munch looked at Goren. "I'm sorry we put you on the spot yesterday. That wasn't fair. But I will tell you this: so far your vigilante is targeting repeat offenders of the worst kind. Their victims were innocents. You can't be surprised at the public response to this."

Goren shook his head, only peripherally aware that Eames had taken Stabler's vacated spot beside Fin. "I'm not, and I understand it. But we can't let people take the law into their own hands. You know that. We have to bring this guy in."

"Our feelings on the matter have no bearing," Eames answered. "And even if we were inclined to let the guy skate, our captain won't accept anything less than our best."

Her eyes were unconsciously drawn toward the front of the diner when the bell indicated someone had come in. She groaned. "And speak of the devil...look who's coming."

Goren turned to see their captain heading toward them from the door of the diner. When he groaned and turned back to meet his partner's eyes, he saw support and sympathy...and he found the fortitude he needed to face Ross.

The captain stopped beside Goren and looked at his detectives. "A coffee break?"

Eames shook her head. "You told us to touch bases with Cragen's people, so we're touching. Detectives Munch and Fin were witnesses."

"It was also their case and that prejudices them against the victim. Don't let them influence you."

Fin frowned at him. "We're on the same team here, captain."

Ross regarded him with a dark, intense look. "Don't forget that, detective. A crime was committed, and it's our job to solve crimes. Stay with it, people." He returned his gaze to Eames. "Finish up here and you're done for the day. I'll see you in the morning, and I'll expect a report of your findings on my desk within an hour of your arrival..." He glanced at Goren. "Whoever gets there first."

He left the table. Goren muttered, "How the hell did he find us here?"

"Never mind," Eames replied. She looked at Fin and Munch. "Can you tell us anything else?"

Munch shook his head. "Only that your suspect is a smart one. Mud on his license plate was covering at least three characters. Your best lead at the moment seems to be the skull and crossbones on his helmet. Good luck tracking him down."

Eames slid out of the booth as her partner stood and set some bills on the table beside his untouched coffee. She smiled at the unlikely partners as Munch grabbed a menu and said, "I think I'll let you buy me dinner, partner. A can of spaghetti-Os just isn't sounding appealing right now."

"How about peanut butter and jelly? You're buyin' lunch tomorrow and we ain't eating at no hot dog stand."

Eames waved at them, smiling. "Good night, guys."

Munch didn't look up from the menu. "'Night."

Fin waved. "Good luck. Nice to see you again, Bobby."

"Same here, Fin. Take care."

Eames snapped her umbrella open and battled the wind as they walked to their black SUV. She unlocked the doors and slid in. "We're not exactly flavor of the month," she complained as he folded himself into the passenger seat.

He laughed softly, genuinely amused. "I've never been flavor of the month," he said without remorse.

She gave him a sideways glance and said, "And you are _not_ going to continue with that thought."

_Too late,_ he mused with a silent laugh. "Uh, let's go for a ride."

"Where to?"

"Out along the BQE."

"Oh, come on. You don't expect he's still going to be there, waiting for us to come along and find him."

"No. I just...want to get a feel for the ride. He headed out that way in all this rain. He was going to a safe haven, someplace familiar. He knew he'd be able to lose any pursuit on the BQE."

"He anticipated traffic in New York. What a visionary."

Another trace of a smile touched his face. "Humor me, Eames."

The truth of the matter was he wanted time to think, and he wasn't having much success thinking when he was home, alone. He found himself dwelling uncomfortably on his mother's deathbed confession regarding his paternity. It haunted his sleep as well as his waking hours. Only when he was with someone, distracted from his thoughts, could he escape the haunting. Lately, he'd been using any excuse in the book not to go home to his empty, demon-filled apartment, where the ghosts of Mark Ford Brady and Frances Goren waited to torment him.

As was her habit, Eames humored her partner. She was worried about him. It never surprised her when he remained behind as she left for the day, unless she invited him to her place for dinner or an evening of movies or Scrabble. It was nice to see him relax, to watch him smile and laugh. He usually ended up crashing in her spare room, and she got the feeling that was the only sleep he got. She wondered what was troubling him, if he still grieved his mother's passing. But she could not get him to talk about it with her. Every time she tried to steer conversation in that direction, he redirected it. Some days he left her feeling dazed by the many deviations their conversations took. She wondered if he realized that he spun her head in circles when he did that. Of course, he sent a clear message: he didn't want to talk about it. But she didn't let up; she was stubborn that way.

On the days he did go home, he was always at his desk early, well before she got there, and she knew he had not slept. Ross had expressed concern, but Goren waved him off, as he did with everyone, which inspired the captain to call _her_ into his office. _Keep an eye on him, Eames. Try to get him to take care of himself. He makes my head hurt, but he's an excellent detective. I don't want to lose him to some kind of physical crisis. _

His concern mirrored her own, and she found herself offering her spare room more often. She was finding it oddly comforting to wake in the morning, knowing he was there. She was doing better now than she had done right after the kidnapping, when her father and her brothers had taken turns staying with her until she felt fully able to be alone in her home again. She refused to dwell on the fact that part of the reassurance she felt having Bobby there stemmed from that ordeal. She convinced herself that it was because he was comfortable there, comfortable enough to get some real sleep, which he did not get at home. And that made her wonder just what it was at home that kept him from his rest.

She looked over at him as she headed through Chinatown, across Manhattan Bridge and onto the BQE. Alert eyes watched from beneath hooded lids, an expression that caught many off guard. Little went on that passed his notice, and that was something that inspired her to try to see what he saw. She still missed things, but she was getting better at it. With him, it was so ingrained it was almost instinctive. She had to train herself to observe, something she'd been doing since the Academy and finding greater success when she pitted her skills against his. A little competition served her well.

* * *

"Well?" she asked as they approached the Brooklyn-Queens boundary.

Drawn from deep thought by her voice, he looked at her. "What?"

"Have you gotten enough of a feel for the ride?"

He sighed. "Sure. I-I'm sorry; it's getting late. I should have let you go right home."

"That's not what I meant. You wanted to come out this way for a reason, and I'm fine with that."

"Let's go back to Manhattan."

"I have a better idea. Let's go to my place. We can get a pizza and see what they have to say on the news tonight. My Scrabble tiles are getting dusty."

He studied her for a long moment. He was tired...tired of being haunted by the past and chased by demons that were not of his own making. Perhaps it was his mind that perpetuated their existence, but he definitely had not created them...not in his worst nightmares... A night at Eames' comfortable home would do him good, as it always did. "All right, Eames. That sounds good."

She smiled, pleased at the aspect of a peaceful night's rest for them both.


	4. Taking the Bait

Eames was proud of herself. She had finally done something she had been trying to do for six years. She beat her partner at Scrabble. Three points could have been three hundred and it would not have made her happier. She won a game of Scrabble against Bobby Goren.

He watched her disappear into the kitchen, enjoying the jiggle she put into her hips as she danced a little dance of victory. He laughed softly and leaned back into the couch. Grabbing his binder, he flipped it open and sifted through it until he found what he was looking for. Glancing at the time and deciding it wasn't too late, he pulled out his phone and dialed.

Eames came back into the living room, carrying a big bowl of popcorn and two cold beers. He was just finishing up his call. "Okay, Sam. Yeah...the morning edition...right...thanks, I owe ya."

She set the bowl and the bottles on the coffee table and went to the video cabinet. "What do you want to watch?"

"Whatever. I don't care."

"Do I want to know who you were talking to?"

"Uh, probably not."

"I'll find out soon enough, right?"

"Right."

After placing her chosen movie in the DVD player, she dropped onto the couch and picked up the remote and the popcorn. He twisted the caps off both bottles, handing her one. Slipping off her shoes and tucking her legs beneath her, she took a long drink and popped a couple of pieces of popcorn in her mouth, laughing softly. "What's so funny?" he asked.

"I won," she said softly.

He laughed, delighted that such a simple thing made her so happy. "I don't know why you're surprised."

She eyed him, suddenly suspicious. "Did you let me win, Goren?"

"No, Eames. I didn't let you win."

Satisfied, she snuggled back into the overstuffed cushions to enjoy the movie. He smiled, pleased with himself, and stretched out his legs with a sigh.

Halfway through the movie, she looked over at him. She knew he had not been sleeping well. Something had been tormenting him, keeping sleep at arms' length, never letting him quite grab on and hold it long enough for it to do him any good. But here, at her house, for some reason, he could relax. Here he was able to catch an elusive night's sleep. And that's what he was doing now, sleeping. She hesitated for a moment before moving to lean against him. He shifted in his sleep, wrapping an arm around her but not waking. Comfortable against his side, she watched the rest of the movie.

When the movie was over, it was almost eleven, so she switched to the news. She knew he wanted to see the news so, after a brief internal debate, she reluctantly woke him. "Did you want to watch the news?"

He sat up and stretched. "News? Uh, oh, yeah...the news."

He sat back and focused his attention on the lead anchor as the news began. She started to move away from him, to the opposite end of the couch, but he muttered, "You don't have to move, Eames. You're fine."

She relaxed into the back of the couch and turned the volume up a little as the story about the shooting began. His legs stretched out alongside the coffee table and his arm lay along the back of the couch. His other elbow was propped on the arm, fingers bracing his head as he watched the news. She tucked her legs back beneath her and hesitated. He read her hesitation and brought his hand forward to touch her shoulder. Letting him gently guide her closer, she rested against him, snuggling comfortably into his side. Ten minutes later she was sleeping. He wasn't far behind.

* * *

Ross blew into the squad room the next morning, clearly furious. "Goren! Eames! My office!" 

No one gave them a second look. They were used to this. Ross was a powderkeg and Goren was always setting off sparks. Eames always got caught in the blast zone. But she stayed, and they were glad she did. Goren defused the captain for the rest of them...except for Logan. Logan had his own way of setting off the captain. After dealing with Goren and Logan, Ross had no energy to go off on the rest of them. But they did wonder what the brilliant, awkward genius did this time. Maybe someday Ross would come to appreciate his unique methods, but until he did, they would settle back and listen to the distant rumble of the explosions that did not involve them...and thank their lucky stars it was not them.

Ross slammed the paper onto his desk. "The front page! The front fucking page!"

It was all Eames could do not to bust out laughing when Goren gave the captain his open-faced innocent look. "Excuse me, captain?"

For a moment Eames was certain Ross was going to explode. Literally. Drawing in several deep breaths, he calmed himself, leveling a finger at his best detective, and his biggest headache. "Why, Goren? Just tell me why."

Eames looked at her partner, giving no indication to the captain that she had no idea what he was talking about. Goren met her eyes, offering a silent apology. She got the feeling she was going to find out what he'd done in another thirty seconds. Goren sighed heavily. "How many more victims are we going to let this guy claim? All we have to go on is a motorcycle with a 2 or a 5 on the license plate, a suspect in black leather with a skull and crossbones on his helmet and a vendetta against child killing repeat offenders. You point me in the right direction and we'll run right out and arrest him. Until you can do that, I'm going to use every means at my disposal to nail him."

"And you're offering yourself as bait to lure him out of hiding."

"Do you have a better plan?"

Ross huffed in frustration. "I have the brass breathing down my neck. Just get this guy...and try not to draw too much attention to yourself." He looked at Eames. "Did you have anything to do with this?"

"No," Goren answered for her. "She had no idea."

Ross raised an eyebrow at him. He had no doubt Eames would have stood by him, but he was deflecting blame from her, to protect her. He looked from one partner to the other. "Get out of here. You have work to do."

They returned to their desks and Eames leaned toward him. "This was about that phone call you made last night, wasn't it?"

He nodded. "I told you I would never let you fall because of me."

"And I told you I'll trip for you anytime."

He looked up at her and he smiled. "You know, Eames...you make it worth getting up every morning."

He turned back to the file in front of him and she smiled, reaching over to pick up the newspaper from his desk. _**Detectives Close in on Vigilante**_, the headline read. She shook her head as she turned the page to read the story he had concocted, hoping to draw out their vigilante.

* * *

At the end of the day, she again offered him the use of her spare bedroom, but he declined. She understood. Sometimes he just needed to be alone. She could predict with certainty what would follow in the morning. He would come in looking exhausted, which Ross would comment on. It would be an off start to a long day, and she would convince him, one way or another, to at least come to her place for dinner. She could always convince him to stay once she got him to her house. "All right, Bobby. Call me later." 

He smiled at her. "Good night, Eames."

He might call her later; he might not. If he got to feeling lonely, he might call. If he went out, or stayed in and hit the bottle hard, he wouldn't call. She never knew which it would be, but she always hoped he would call.

* * *

It was almost eight when he made his way to his car, which he'd left parked overnight in the parking garage when he went home last night with Eames. He pulled out his keys and slid into the car, starting it up and backing out of the spot. 

After turning out of the parking garage, he drove away from One Police Plaza, turning on the radio. Over the soft music, his sharp ears picked up another sound...the sound of a bullet being chambered. The cold steel of a gun barrel pressed into the back of his neck and a soft voice whispered past his ear. "I want your gun and your phone. Now."

Moving slowly, he handed them over. The gun barrel remained firm against the back of his neck and the only thing he could think of was Eames. He had never been afraid to die, but he was afraid of what his death would do to his partner. The voice continued, "Head for the Holland Tunnel, detective. Cross over to Jersey City, get on 78 West and drive."

"What's this about?"

"Drive. Don't talk."

He looked in the rearview mirror, surprised by what he saw. Soft hair, the warm, golden color of honey, framed a pretty face that watched him with determined, golden eyes. She wore a white t-shirt beneath a black leather jacket. Black leather..._oh, my God...she took the bait_. Their vigilante was a woman.


	5. Accidentally On Purpose

She was done eating and the dinner dishes were washed, dried and put away. Sitting in the corner of the couch with a pint of ice cream, halfway through a random movie she'd tuned in to, Eames looked at the coffee table, where the Scrabble board still sat, untouched from the night before. Suddenly feeling a need to hear her partner's voice, she picked up the phone and dialed.

He heard the phone ring in the back seat as the car headed west on Interstate 78 through Pennsylvania and his eyes darted to the rearview mirror. She was still watching him, gun barrel pressed firmly against his neck, ignoring the ringing phone. "Just keep driving, detective. Keep it under the speed limit and don't try anything to attract attention or all they're going to find is your body."

"Would you tell me what this is about?"

"Did you read this morning's paper?"

"Uh, yes."

"That's what this is about. Keep driving."

He was quiet for another mile. "Um, which part of the paper?"

"We're not here because the Yankees won in Chicago."

"I gathered that...and they didn't play in Chicago. They played in St. Petersburg."

She huffed in annoyance and he felt her breath against the back of his neck. "Did you read the lead story?"

"My partner did. I didn't read the actual wording, but I know what it said."

"How did you know it was me?"

"I, um, I didn't."

"But the paper said..."

"I know what the paper said. You can't always believe what you read."

He felt the tremor in her hand through the steel pressing against his neck. "Uh, I would really... appreciate it if you would move that gun...before you do something you'll regret."

"You lied to the press?"

"No. The press lied to you. I used them as a tool to draw you out." He was quiet for a moment before he added, "It worked."

He could feel her gaze on the back of his head, but he breathed a silent sigh of relief when the gun barrel moved away from its place against his skin. At least now, there would be no accidental discharge if they got bumped in traffic...what little traffic there was. His eyes again sought her in the mirror. "You realize you've gotten yourself into a hell of a lot of trouble."

"Keep driving and stop talking, detective," she said wearily.

He turned his attention back to the highway, but he kept an eye on her, hoping she would fall asleep and give him a chance to salvage this situation. He wanted to know what was going on with her, what drove her to murder and kidnapping, but he wanted the upper hand. He was not comfortable with his current position and his mind was busy looking for a way to change it. He wondered how well she'd thought this through, although so far she seemed to have everything well in hand.

"Uh, we need fuel."

"Stop at the next station."

"And I need a rest stop."

"You can hold it."

"Excuse me?"

"Be a big boy, detective. You can wait. I am not letting you out of my sight. I know enough about you from reading the papers to know that you are not stupid. Well, neither am I. We'll get fuel for the car and push on. You can wait until we get where we're going."

_Shit_. He was really going to regret that late cup of coffee...

* * *

Eames set the phone back in its cradle. No answer at home or on his cell. She sighed. That meant one of two things, and either way, he'd be cranky and hungover in the morning. With Ross on the warpath, that meant her best bet would be to get their paperwork done and get her partner out of the squadroom as quickly as she possibly could. Fortunately, they had people to talk to about Hernandez, and she wanted to stop by the SVU squad to talk to John Munch about the two courthouse shootings. She'd gotten the file from Stabler on Jeffrey Markham that morning and Bobby had it with him. She was going to ask Munch for the file on the little girl Hernandez killed.

The picture they were getting of the vigilante was a sympathetic one, and that concerned her as well. Goren had a definite propensity toward sympathy. She still got irritated with him over several cases that had gotten him in hot water with Carver. Granted, he had insulated her from the fallout, but she was aggravated that he let himself get into trouble over a perp of any kind. Sometimes, his hard line blurred, and always unexpectedly. Well, this time she was determined to be ready and to nip it in the bud. No one handled him better than she did, but even she was still learning her way around his unpredictability.

She looked at the phone and shook her head. He still seemed to be struggling with the emotional fallout of his mother's passing. She understood that. But she also wondered how long it would be before he would finally turn to her. He had to know she was there for him. All he had to do was offer three simple words: _Can we talk?_ She'd be all ears, sympathetic and reassuring. And it would do him a world of good to get off his chest whatever it was that was weighting him down and keeping sleep at a distance on a regular basis. She was still trying to figure a way to get him to talk to her. She had to catch him with his guard down and so far, even when he seemed relaxed and at ease, that guard was not budging.

She put her ice cream away and finished watching the movie. After getting ready for bed, she made her usual rounds to check that the doors and windows were locked and secure. Finally, she tried one more time to reach Goren, knowing he wasn't going to answer. She snuggled down into the softness of her bed, pulling the down comforter around her shoulders. She drew in a deep, weary breath and went to sleep thinking about her gentle-hearted but difficult partner.

* * *

He watched the numbers tick on the gas pump in front of him as he filled the car's fuel tank. His captor stood nearby, arms crossed, and he knew her fingers were curled around her gun, tucked out of sight in the folds of her jacket but readily accessible. He knew he could overpower her, but that was likely to get him shot. From unfortunate experience he knew how painful that could be. And getting shot was unpredictable. The path of a bullet through the body depended on a number of factors that he was unwilling to gamble with. Again, his mind turned to his partner. He'd put her through a lot in their years together; he was not going to put her through that.

In addition to consideration for Eames, something else fueled his lack of a desire to escape. This criminal intrigued him. That fact alone, he knew, would get him smacked by his fiery little partner. But it was the truth. He was driven by a powerful need to know what drove this woman to murder. He did not feel that his life was in danger; he got no impression that she meant him any harm. But he'd been wrong before, so he was cautious.

He finished pumping the gas and she said, "We're going to go inside and pay for the fuel. I have nothing to lose by shooting you, detective, so don't try anything stupid."

She handed him two twenties and followed him across the lot into the store to pay for the gas. He'd been hoping to use his credit card, but she was adamantly against it, to the point of taking his wallet. She wasn't stupid; she was letting him leave no trail for Eames to follow. When he didn't show up for work in the morning, Eames would know something was wrong. She would start looking for him once she realized he wasn't home. But where was she going to look? There was nothing to indicate anything was wrong, no signs of struggle at his apartment, no witnesses to his abduction. The one thing that concerned him, aside from the worry his absence was going to cause Eames, was how Ross was going to react.

When Eames had gone missing last year, Ross had backed him all the way. But there had been proof of her abduction, proof her life was in real danger. There was nothing of the kind to indicate anything had happened to him. And even he had no proof his life was in danger. He didn't feel threatened. Without proof anything was amiss, he had his doubts Ross would support her contention that he would never just not show up for work. After a year, Ross should know his work habits, but the man still didn't know him. He was at a loss over how to give his partner what she needed to get the captain to listen to her.

He handed the clerk the two twenties and waited for the change. She lingered nearby, but not too close. Taking the change, he turned away from the counter as he slipped the money into his pocket. He tripped into a display stand, knocking bags of chips all over the floor. She glared at him. He gave her a sheepish grin and shrugged. Grabbing his arm, she looked at the clerk. "Excuse him. He's a bit of a klutz."

She pushed him out of the store and across the lot to the car. He felt the gun barrel dig into his side as he said, "We really should have cleaned that up, you know."

"Get in the damn car, detective."

He got behind the wheel and she slid into the passenger seat. He looked at her, his expression still one of innocent bemusement. She set the pistol in her lap, finger resting beside the trigger. "Let's get the hell out of here. Continue westbound."

He started the car. "Do you mind if I ask where we're going?"

"Just drive."

"Um...be careful with that gun, will you?"

"I know how to handle a gun, detective."

"I know you do. But accidents happen...and I don't want to be an accident. Getting abducted is bad enough."

"I have no plans to harm you."

"Then what do you plan to do? You've obviously thought this through, at least to an extent. You broke into my car and mapped out our route. You took my gun, my phone and my wallet. I'm a cop. You have to know you're in a world of trouble."

"You know that this is nothing compared to what else I've done this week."

"But it's compounding things for you. You're adding insult to injury. And if anything happens to me, you have to know you'll be facing a lot of years in a very unpleasant place."

_Not to mention I'd hate to be you when my partner gets a hold of you,_ he thought. He'd been on the receiving end of her fury, and it was not a pleasant place to find yourself. Well, he had nothing to lose by making a suggestion. "Would you consider letting me contact my partner..."

"No. Just drive."

He sighed. No surprise there. "Can I open the window?"

Hesitation. "Halfway."

He rolled down the window and took a deep breath of the cool night air.

Back in the convenience store, the clerk was grumbling to himself as he cleaned up the mess. "I swear...some people..."

He stopped, seeing a glint of gold on the floor under the shelf's edge. Reaching toward it, he was surprised to pick up a gold NYPD detective's shield. He looked up at the door, frowning deeply. And he hurried to the phone.


	6. An Unhappy Captain

The ringing phone was insistent, and it wasn't going to let him ignore it, no matter how tired he was. Fumbling around the nightstand, he found it and yanked it off its cradle. "Mmn...yeah, Ross..."

He listened carefully to the voice on the other end. Then, annoyed, he muttered, "You're waking me at, uh, four-thirty in the morning because one of my detectives went joy-riding last night and lost his badge?"

Another explanation. "Really? And he was with a woman? Did the clerk describe her?"

Light hair, on the petite side, seemed like she was running the show... "Okay, so two of my detectives go joyriding and...all right, all right...I'll talk to them, first thing. Did he break anything? Okay, good. Thanks."

He returned the phone to its cradle. He was going to kill Goren.

* * *

He turned off the ignition and looked out the window at the dark shape of the farmhouse that loomed ahead of them. "Where did you say we were?" 

"Just outside Schenectady."

"Schenectady? You sure took us the long way around. Six and a half hours for a two hour drive?"

"Call it the scenic route. Let's go."

Once out of the car, she took his keys and slipped them into her pocket. He tried to study the surroundings, but there wasn't a great deal of light to see by. "You live here?"

"No. My grandparents left this place to me. I live on Long Island."

"You really don't fit well into any defined criminal profile."

"I'm _not_ a criminal by nature and I would appreciate it if you don't call me one."

He mounted the steps to the large porch that adorned the front of the house. "You murdered two men and abducted a cop. What would you call yourself?"

Instead of answering, she handed him a single key on a simple keyring. He looked at the fob, then at her. "Tinkerbell? You seem more the Cinderella type."

She couldn't fully suppress her smile. "It was my daughter's. Inside, detective."

He slipped the key into the lock and turned it, opening the door and stepping inside. The house had the smell of being closed up for a while, but it was clean and well ordered. "So your daughter is home with ..."

"No, she's not. Head up the stairs. Second door to the left is the bathroom. I give you one minute. I'll be standing right outside the door, and I will not hesitate to shoot you if you try anything."

The mention of a daughter she didn't want to discuss further intrigued him. "I won't," he said quietly.

She followed him up the stairs and waited in the hallway until he came out of the bathroom. Then she directed him down the hall, into a nice sized bedroom. A full-sized bed was situated against the wall across from the window and the room was decorated in a sports motif. A foot locker was set against the foot of the bed and a dresser rested against the wall beside the window. Across the room from the closet was a small bookcase with what looked like the entire collection of Hardy Boys mysteries filling the shelves. Above both the bookcase and the dresser were shelves of trophies, model planes and cars and sports figurines. A square table and two chairs sat in the middle of the room. "This was my brother's room when we came to visit. Please sit on the bed and give me your handcuffs."

He raised his eyebrows and hesitated for a moment before she motioned with the gun and he did as she asked. Closing one cuff around his left wrist, she secured the other cuff to one of the rungs in the headboard. "Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Something to drink? Coffee, tea, cola or water?"

"Coffee's fine."

"Don't you sleep?"

"Not well."

"Maybe if you didn't drink coffee so late..."

"Maybe if I was home where I belong..."

She waved him off and said, "Okay, fine. I'll get you a cup of coffee. How do you take it?"

"Light."

"I'll be right back. Behave."

He sat back on the bed and looked at his cuffed wrist. He sighed. He still didn't feel like she meant him any harm, though for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why she'd done this. What possible gain could she get from abducting him? If she had never struck again, chances were she would have gotten away with the two vigilante murders. He would never have guessed a woman was responsible, although that kind of thinking would earn him a slap on the head from Eames. Women criminals, he knew from experience, could be vicious. He chased away the reminder of Nicole Wallace. That particular psychopath was leagues away from this woman from Long Island. And right now, what he wanted most, aside from letting his partner know he was all right, was to learn what drove her to murder and kidnapping. He had to learn what motivated this woman.

* * *

Eames was surprised not to see her partner when she got to work at seven the next morning. She had not planned on getting there first; she rarely did. She decided to get cracking on the paperwork so she could hustle him out of the squad room as soon as she possibly could. Maybe, if they were lucky, they would be gone by the time Ross got here. 

_No such luck,_ she mused miserably as she heard the captain's voice, and he didn't sound happy. "Eames!"

Turning, she looked at him. "Yes, captain."

"My office."

She sighed. At least he wasn't yelling. She followed him to the office and closed the door behind her. "Allentown," he said simply, as if it was supposed to mean something to her

"Um, Billy Joel?" she guessed.

"No, Eames, Pennsylvania. I'm down to my last nerve, detective. Don't get on it."

She was equally frustrated and not in the mood for games. "What about it, captain?"

"You weren't in Allentown last night?"

"Of course not. I was at home."

If it was possible, the angry look on his face darkened. "Well, your partner was in Allentown, Pennsylvania, at around ten last night, causing trouble."

She swallowed a moment of panic, followed by confusion. Trouble? In Allentown, Pennsylvania? "What kind of trouble?"

"All I know is that he was with a woman, he knocked over a display in a convenience store along Interstate 78 and he lost his damn badge. I heard all about it at 4:30 this morning."

Her frown deepened. "I don't know anything about it, captain."

"Call him and tell him to get his ass in here."

"I will."

She left the office, not sure what to make of what the captain told her. Allentown? She returned to her desk and dialed his number, letting it ring until it went to voicemail. Then she tried his home number. No answer. Maybe he was taking the subway in. The reception down there was poor. She would just have to wait until he got there.

They were really going to have to have a talk. If he was starting to get out of control, she was going to have to carefully reel him in. But something wasn't sitting right with her. He'd never taken his sometimes-odd behavior out of state to cause problems...oh, well, except for that one time in New Jersey...that still made her smile. And he hadn't been alone; she'd been with him, which was probably why it had happened. Drawing her mind out of the past, she focused on Allentown. Something felt wrong about this. What woman would he have been with? He hadn't been seeing anyone lately, not since his mother was diagnosed with lymphoma. Could he have picked someone up and gone from there, as Ross seemed to be intimating? Anything was possible, but it just didn't...feel right. She returned to the paperwork, waiting for him to get there, but she couldn't concentrate.

When nine o'clock rolled around and he still had not arrived, she went to Ross' door. "Captain, I'm going to run over to Goren's. He should have been here by now."

"Don't baby him, Eames."

She fought down a surge of irritation. "He has never just not showed up for work, captain. He would have called me."

"And you would have covered for him. I know how it goes, Eames."

"Isn't that what partners are supposed to do?"

Ignoring the question, Ross asked, "Has he ever been trashed in Allentown before?"

Another flash of irritation. "You don't know he was drinking."

Ross shook his head. He wasn't going to get anywhere with Eames. He would have to wait for Goren to get there, and then he'd really let him have it. "Go. And let him know I'm not happy."

She turned from the office and muttered, "So what else is new?"

* * *

She set a small stack of file folders on the table in her brother's old room and sat in one of the chairs with a cup of tea. He nursed the hot coffee she'd given him. French roast...not his favorite, but it was fresh and hot. He watched her leaf through one of the folders, trying to read her expression. He saw a deep sadness, and that troubled him for some reason. He was the victim here. He had no business feeling sympathy for the woman who kidnapped him. But he did. "What's wrong?" 

She looked up and thought through what she was about to say. "I have a reason for bringing you here, detective. I read what you said about me in the paper, and you have it all wrong. I want to set the record straight, and somehow I doubt that would happen in one of your interrogation rooms. You already know what I did. Now I want you to know why."

"Do you think that will make a difference?"

"It will to me." She rested her hands on the file folders. "In your expert opinion, does the criminal justice system work?"

"Most of the time, yes."

"But it fails people?"

"Unfortunately, it happens. We do the best we can, but sometimes, we just don't win. Sometimes, the other side scores."

"I'm not even talking about that. I'm talking about the people who get convicted, sometimes of horrible crimes, who get to see the light of day again. The ones who get another taste of freedom and they can't handle it. They have to revert to old patterns. They have to continue destroying new lives."

"That happens, too."

"That happened with Landis and Martinez."

"Yes. It did. It's not a perfect system."

"Do you ever get the feeling it's a system for the criminals? They're so worried about the rights of criminal, they trample all over the victims."

"It seems that way sometimes, yes."

She nodded, rubbing her hands over the folders. She was beginning to like this cop. He wasn't at all what she expected. She looked down at the worn folders. "There are three lives in these folders, detective. These three lives enriched mine, and then destroyed it."

He was beginning to have trouble focusing. The stress of the night, the long car ride, and the accumulated effects of the downward spiral his life had taken after his mother passed away were catching up with him. Of course, he was pulling out of that self-destructive spiral with his partner's help. He was once again starting to see light shining through the darkness. That light, he was beginning to realize, was Eames.

Something wasn't quite right. He looked into the now-empty coffee cup, and then at the woman. Realization was slowly creeping through the encroaching fog that fuzzed his mind. "Wh-what did you do?"

"You're just going to sleep for a little while. Then we can talk."

"Y-you drugged me?"

"I'm not going to have you escape while I sleep."

He frowned. "Escape? How far do you think I'll get handcuffed to this bed?"

Darkness was now teasing the edges of his consciousness and words were dancing beyond his grasp. "Don't fight it. We can talk in the morning. Good night, detective."

He tried to fight it, but he wasn't successful. Images of people and places danced in front of him as the farmhouse bedroom spun out of sight. It wasn't long before Mark Ford Brady once again teamed with his mother to haunt his sleep. But this time there was a difference. This time his partner joined them in the dreamworld his unconscious concocted, unbidden but not unwelcome. But instead of joining them to haunt him, she drove them away, remaining protectively by his side, and he slept.


	7. The First Life

Eames knocked on his door several times. She was about to pull out her keys when the door of the next apartment down opened. A pretty brunette smiled at her. "Hello, Alex."

"Hi, Paula."

"Bobby's not home."

"Oh. Do you know when he left?"

"He never came home last night."

"How can you be sure?"

"These walls are paper-thin, and we can usually hear him moving about after he gets home, regardless of the time he comes in. Matt's a night owl and he was up most of the night. I just asked him if he heard him at all, and he said no. He wasn't home last night."

"Thank you, Paula."

As Paula returned to her apartment, Eames pulled out her keys and let herself in to his apartment. She was hoping Paula missed something but there was no indication he'd been here. She went into the kitchen. No dishes in the sink or drying in the drain. No beer bottles in the recycling container she had emptied with him two days ago. She went back to the bedroom. Everything seemed in its place. No steam residue in the bathroom from a morning shower. There was no indication anything was wrong, but she read trouble at every turn. He had not stayed at her place last night; he would have been here. Even if he had been with a woman, he had to sleep somewhere, and he didn't usually spend the night away from home anywhere but her house. He would have come home last night.

She pulled out her phone and called Ross. "Captain, he's not here and he didn't come in last night."

_And you know this how?_

"There's no indication he was here and the neighbors didn't hear him moving around like they usually do. Where in Allentown was this convenience store?"

_Eames, you are not going to run off on a wild goose chase because your partner shacked up with some woman last night._

Eames counted to ten as slowly as she could. "I know my partner, captain. You don't. I am going to go to the convenience store, talk to the clerk, get the surveillance tape and pick up his badge. Now tell me where to go or I'll start at one end of town and keep going until I find the place, if it takes all damn day."

She heard his frustrated sigh. _Hold on._ He came back a few minutes later with the exact address of the convenience store. _When he drags himself home with his tail tucked between his legs..._

"You don't want to continue that statement, captain. Don't presume to make assumptions about him."

_I could tell you the same, Eames. He's unpredictable._

"Only if you don't understand him. I'll call you when I find something."

She snapped the phone closed and locked the apartment door behind her as she left.

* * *

He groaned softly and tried to turn over, but his arm was not cooperating. Slowly he opened his eyes, looking around the unfamiliar surroundings. Where the hell was he? He tried moving his left arm again, surprised when the handcuff bit into his wrist.

Slowly the events of the night before returned as his mind cleared. He sat up carefully; his head was still spinning a bit. She had been right about one thing. He had slept.

The door opened and his captor came into the room. "Good morning, detective."

He managed a grunt. She pulled his keys from her pocket and undid the handcuff from his wrist. He watched his keys vanish back into her pocket. She motioned toward the door. "I'll wait for you to finish in the bathroom, then I'll get your breakfast."

The room was a little unsteady as he got up from the bed. He was pissed that she had drugged him, but his curiosity overrode that. He still wanted to find out what had driven her to murder.

When he returned to the room, she cuffed him back to the bed. "When I come back with your breakfast, I'll take that off again. I'll be right back."

"No coffee," he grumbled at her.

He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the small stack of manila folders sitting on the table. The answers to his question lay within those folders. Something devastating had happened to this woman, something bad enough to drive her to everything she had done. He wanted to know what. _They enriched my life, and then destroyed it._ What could she have meant by that?

She returned shortly with a tray containing two plates, a cup of coffee for her and orange juice for him. After uncuffing him, she set the dishes on the table. He pulled up a chair opposite her and they ate in silence. She didn't know what to say and he was still mad. Maybe some food would moderate his mood. Of course she couldn't blame him for being mad. Cuffing him to the bed should have been enough of a security measure for her; he had not tried to escape. Drugging him was taking things too far, in his mind. So he remained silent, but his mind, as usual, was racing, and he was anxious to get on with this. He wanted to know _why_, and she was the only one who could answer that question for him.

After clearing away the plates and setting them on the dresser, she returned to the table and rested her hands on the folders. He waited. Finally, she said, "It started twenty years ago."

She opened a folder and showed him a picture of a boy with a thick mane of unruly hair and a crooked, mischievous smile. "His name was Connor. He was twelve when he died. They knew who killed him; everyone knew. But they couldn't prove it and the guy walked. We buried Connor." She ran a hand over the papers in the file. "I was fifteen, and I never forgot it. Here are copies of newspaper clippings, police reports, and his autopsy results. My mother was never the same after this. She died the year after I finished college, nine years later. To the day she died, she visited my brother's grave every week. She was buried next to him."

She slid the folder and its contents to him. The first thing he noticed was that Connor's last name, and any identifying items, like his address and the last names of family members, were blacked out. He went through every paper in the file, reading the information carefully. He was particularily interested in the medical examiner's report. Her brother had died a painful, lingering death. No wonder it haunted her. One thing she did not black out: the name of her brother's murderer, Davis Mitchell. He committed the name to memory, intent on researching it when he returned to the squad room. When he was through, he closed the file, slid it to one side and, continuing his silence, looked at her expectantly. Three lives...that was number one.

* * *

Eames returned to the squad room late that afternoon, her partner's badge in her pocket and a videotape in her hand. Ross was still there, waiting for her. "What did you find out?"

"Not much from the clerk. He got twenty-eight dollars and thirty-two cents worth of gas and after he paid for it, he knocked over the display. The woman he was with apologized for him and ushered him out the door." She held up the videotape. "I have the surveillance tape."

He followed her as she headed to the conference room where the video equipment was set up. She looked at him as she slid the tape into the VCR and said, "And the clerk said he had no reason to believe he was drunk."

"Can you explain his behavior?"

"I have an idea. I want to see the tape first though."

Ross pulled up a chair beside her and she fast forwarded until she got to the segment where Goren entered the store. She ran it at normal speed, watching his every movement. Then she rewound it and watched the woman. Finally, she rewound it and ran it a third time, in slow motion. "Watch, captain." She pointed to the woman's right hand. "Look...there, when he trips into the display. He did that intentionally. There..." She rewound the tape a little. "Now watch him...he puts the change in his pocket as he turns away from her...see, there's his badge in his hand...and he knocks the display over...and drops his badge. She didn't expect it and dropped her guard for a second...there...see the gun in her hand..." She looked at the captain, feeling vindicated. "He wasn't just causing trouble, and he wasn't drinking. Something happened to him and now he's being held at gunpoint...and they're not in the city."

Ross sat there, watching the slow-motion replay, a deep, contemplative frown on his face. "I owe you both an apology, detective."

"He's not the loose cannon you seem to think he is."

Ross was nodding as he watched bags of chips skitter across the convenience store floor, watching the badge leave his detective's hand and slide under the edge of the lower shelf behind the display. "Ingenious..." he muttered. "That was a smart move. But it doesn't tell us where he is, Eames. Or _why_ he was taken."

"But at least we know he's not out joy riding with some woman," she said, not quite able to keep the bitter anger from her tone.

"I apologized, Eames. Let it go and let's figure out a way to find him, before something unfortunate happens..."

Eames turned back to the television, her mind flashing back to a late night, just over a year ago, when she and her partner sat in this same room, reviewing surveillance video...the night she went home and walked into a nightmare...and she shuddered...

_Where are you, Bobby?_


	8. Victims of A Cruel Fate

He watched her get up from the table after studying him for a long moment. She motioned to the bed, not trusting herself to say anything. He sighed, setting his hands on the table and pushing his chair back. He let her cuff him again, and he didn't say anything. She hurried out of the room, leaving him to ponder her brother's murder and wonder what remained in the other two folders. Another thought came to him. He had felt no threat from her and he still didn't, but what was going to happen once her final revelation was made...and why was she making them at all? Was it the news article that drove her to single him out for this? Did this decades-old murder really have any relevance to her present-day crimes? He would have to wait until she returned to find out any of this, and there was no telling when she'd come back.

He looked out the window. Morning? Shit...it wasn't morning. He wasn't wearing a watch, but judging from the sun that was streaming in the window it was probably around three or four in the afternoon. That meant it was close to eighteen hours since he'd left the squad room the night before. Eames knew long ago that something was wrong, even if she didn't know what. She would be looking for him. But where would she look? Certainly not in an old farmhouse upstate. He was entirely at the mercy of his captor until he could figure out some way to get in touch with Eames. He wasn't liking that very much at all. He hated not being in control of his own destiny. He had spent too many years living with uncertainty to ever willingly take a step backwards. Yet here he was...once more in the grips of an uncertain future, the outcome of which lay in someone else's hands. And he didn't even know her name...

* * *

Eames was pacing the conference room, lost in memories and troubled thoughts, when Ross came in. "I've put out the word that we have a missing officer. Go home, Eames. There's nothing more you can do. Don't follow your partner's lead and run yourself into the ground like he did when you were missing. That won't help anyone." 

She ignored his suggestion, just like Goren had last year. "We know he was in Allentown at 10:45 last night. That's almost 24 hours ago. She could have him in Canada by now, or Florida, or some God-forsaken cornfield in Nebraska..." She stopped. She was tired, angry, frustrated and sick with worry, and each emotion was struggling to dominate the others.

Ross watched her for a moment, sensing the turmoil she was feeling. This didn't call for a heavy hand but rather a soft touch, a side he hesitated to show the people he commanded. These circumstances were different though. As it was, Eames seemed certain that he didn't like her partner, but that was not the case. He took a hard line with Goren because that was what the man needed. He was not going to baby a temperamental genius. He appreciated the man's brilliance and he was finally coming to realize that the instability that tempered that sharp intelligence was more fiction than fact. He might very well have been unstable at one time, which is where he imagined the rumors originated, rumors he was beginning to regret ever putting stock in. He had gotten off to a shaky start with Goren because of them. But whatever instability he might have experienced in that past was gone, and in its place was Eames. Ross fully recognized that Eames was the grounding force to her partner's astounding leaps of logic. His mind remained well ahead of the normal men who followed, but Eames was as close behind him as a person could get, and Goren depended on her. He was unable to read anything into the true nature of their relationship but he knew one thing for absolute certain: whatever they had between them, it worked. They had weathered an extremely difficult year, and they came out of it intact as a team, emotionally scarred but healing. And the only salve they needed was one another.

"Eames...he'll be all right. Your partner can talk circles around the best of us. He's going to be okay."

She studied the captain. That was about as close as he'd ever come to complimenting Goren. But how could he know he'd be okay when she didn't? She didn't appreciate empty platitudes, but she did realize that he was trying. And he was right about his ability to talk his way out of things. How many times had he soothed Ron Carver's ruffled feathers with just the right words to pull his ass out of whatever fire he'd gotten himself into in the first place? "I wish I knew he'd be okay, captain."

"You, of all people, can't be losing faith in him."

"Never. But the time is going to come when words won't be enough. And if I'm not there to back him up, where is that going to leave him? How am I supposed to live with that?"

"The same way he had to when you were missing."

She was quiet for a long moment. She had not discussed this with Ross before. "How did he handle it?"

"How did he tell you he handled it?"

She remembered. He told her that the light he had followed for the past half a decade had been put underneath a bushel basket and he was left out in the dark, floundering to find his way in a world that was no longer familiar. "He was lost."

Ross nodded. "Pretty much. He doesn't do so well without you, Eames."

She looked at the television screen, a moment frozen in time. His badge was in mid-air, halfway to its hiding place on the floor. She was coming to realize that she didn't so so well by herself any more either. She was only half of a greater whole, and only Goren could fill the role of that other half. "Did you put out a BOLO on his car?"

"Yes. One of two things is going to happen. Either we'll find him or he'll figure out some way to find us. Either way we're going to get him back. Trust me."

That was easier said than done, but she bit back the reply that sat on the tip of her tongue. Pissing him off would not help find Goren. She returned her attention to the video footage that was now ingrained in her memory, nudging the scene forward a frame at a time. She was resolutely determined to keep searching until they found him. The only problem was she had no earthly idea where to look.

* * *

It was well after dark when she returned. She said nothing as she set two styrofoam boxes on the table. Uncuffing him, she let him use the bathroom before they sat back at the table to eat. He wondered if she was beginning to trust him. She hadn't stood outside the door this time, returning downstairs to retrieve two large styrofoam cups. As he approached her where she was waiting just outside the bedroom door, she said, "I hope cola's all right. I got you a hamburger and fries."

He muttered a thank you and again they ate in silence. He wondered where she had been all evening, but he hesitated to ask. Whatever she had done, she'd done it with his car, and that could work for him or against him. If anything negative came of it, he wondered if Ross would presume he was involved. Eames would know better, but unfortunately she wasn't the one calling the shots. How much would it suck if he got out of this ordeal by being arrested and detained until it all got straightened out? No, Eames wouldn't let it come to that. They would find his badge and when word got to her, she would know something was wrong. He wasn't sure what she would be able to do about it, and he hated like hell to worry her, but at least she would know he was all right. He hated causing her any more grief; he'd caused her enough this past year.

He admitted that he had not handled his mother's terminal diagnosis and final illness well, and he had taken that out on Eames. He regretted it, but even though it had initially damaged their relationship, when the rift was sealed, their friendship was stronger than it had been before. Deep affection had sprung from the well of his intense grief, once the fog had drifted away. She had stayed by him through the entire ordeal of his mother's death, absorbing not only his grief but his anger as well. And the affection forged from his adversity ran deep. Now freed from the prison of his responsibilities, he was able to redirect the emotion and attention his mother had tried to monopolize...and there was Eames, a willing target...

But there was one thing he had not shared with her, or with anyone. Something he just could not bring himself to discuss though it remained stubbornly in his thoughts and dreams. Mark Ford Brady was dead, and it was oddly ironic how his death had intersected with his mother's as his life had intersected with hers. _Uncle Mark..._his dreams now seemed to be snatches of memories from forgotten moments of his childhood which dissolved into nightmare moments of more recent origin. How could he ever tell Eames what his mother had revealed to him before she died? How could something like that not taint her opinion of him or drive an irremovable wedge between them? It was bad enough when he thought his father was a gambling, womanizing drunk...but to be the bastard son of a serial rapist and murderer? That was unforgivable, even to him. How could he expect her to get past it when he couldn't?

She drew him from his thoughts when she set aside her half-finished dinner. He was done, eating by rote and not from any real driven hunger. He closed the empty container in front of him and set it aside. She took it and placed it with her container by the door. Then she returned to her chair and squared the files in front of her, studying them with sad eyes. She slid the thinner of the two files toward the center of the table. Goren took it and flipped it open. The top page was a photograph of two people. He recognized her and he assumed the man was a boyfriend or husband. They stood beside one another and his arm was wrapped protectively around her shoulders; both were laughing...happy times he surmised she would never see again.

He looked up at her, taken slightly aback by the look of sorrow that deeply etched her features. "His name was Harry. We met in college and were married for ten years. We had a strong marriage, a loving relationship. He made my life complete, until the day he was taken from it. That was last year."

He frowned and finally spoke. "Another murder?"

"No."

She slid the last file toward him. He hesitated before flipping it open. The picture sitting on top of this file was a little girl. She had her uncle's crooked smile, minus the mischief. Two missing front teeth graced her wide smile, which lingered at the edge of laughter. Bright eyes the color of sapphires shone from the photo and her blonde hair was drawn into pigtails. He raised his eyes from the picture to see fresh tears trickling down her cheeks. "She was six when we buried her." She nodded at the file. "You'll find the same things in that file that you found in Connor's...police reports, the autopsy results, newspaper clippings...We lived in Connecticut when she went missing from the front yard. They found her body three weeks later. They also found the man who killed her. The transcript of his trial is in there. It's horrifying. He gives intimate details of the things he did to her, every one of which was supported by the coroner's findings. Harry...couldn't handle it. Before the trial was over...he committed suicide. Guess who found him."

He scrubbed a hand over his chin, disturbed by the circumstances of this woman's tragedy. "I-I'm sorry."

"Everyone is sorry, detective. The police, the prosecutor, the judge and jury...everyone."

He shuffled through the papers to find the disposition of the trial. Guilty...and he was sentenced to death. Something else caught his eye from the prosecutor's closing arguments. He was a repeat offender, and he'd raped and killed before. Still on parole, he struck again, and this beautiful little girl died because of it. The pieces were falling into place now, and he understood. He continued looking through the pages of the file. Steven Thomas Turner, a 48 year old drifter with a long criminal history that turned violent when he was thirty. Fifteen years in prison and he struck again, four weeks after he was paroled. The rapes and murders of two women got him sent to prison, good behavior and a psychiatrist's certification of rehabilitation got him paroled. _Rehabilitation, my ass,_ he mused. Violent sex offenders didn't rehabilitate. The three strikes ruling was fine in practice, but this child's horrible, violent death was his second strike. Just like Landis and Hernandez. He raised his eyes to look at her. "Two wrongs don't make a right," he said softly.

"I wanted you to understand."

"I do understand, but I can't condone what you did."

"I'm not looking for that. You said some harsh things in the paper, and you were wrong about that. Everyone who was important to me was taken away by men who had killed before."

"The justice system isn't perfect, and the prisons are overcrowded."

"So release non-violent offenders," she snapped. "Send home the tax evaders and deadbeat dads. Don't let rapists and murderers back on the streets."

"You're preaching to the choir. I do my job."

"I know you do. I've done my homework, Detective Goren. Your arrests have a very strong conviction rate. That's why I wanted to talk to you, alone and outside the context of an interrogation room."

"Are you going to turn yourself in?"

"No. I have work to do."

He shook his head. "You're going about this the wrong way."

Anger flashed in her eyes. "I'm going about this the only way that works, detective. It takes years to get any legislation through the system, and then it becomes subjective in the courts. There are loopholes in the law that a Mack truck will fit through. I just plug the loopholes."

He looked at the files in front of him. "With a gun. I can't..."

Her voice was bitter. "I know. You can't condone what I've done. It seemed to me that you were interested in justice, and in what's right. I guess I read you wrong."

His head snapped up, anger coloring his tone. "I've spent my life pursuing justice. Don't tell me I'm not interested in justice." He slammed a hand on the table. "I do my job and I do it within the limits of the law."

"I am not faulting your end of it. It's the courts that fail us."

"Then why the hell am I here?"

She shook her head and stood up. He also got to his feet, studying her with intense eyes. She came around the table and faced off with him. "Because I thought you were different. I was wrong." Bracing her hands on his chest, she shoved him. He stumbled back into the dresser, which he hit hard enough to rebound off. His body hit hers and he grabbed her to keep her from falling. She yanked herself away from him and snarled, "Damn you."

"I'm sorry, but you're the one who shoved me."

She pointed toward the bed. "Sit down or I will shoot you."

He hesitated for a moment but then did what she told him to. Her emotional state made her unpredictable and he didn't want to push the wrong button. Right now, he did not doubt she would shoot him if provoked. Grief and anger had pushed her over the edge, and he wasn't sure there was any getting her back.

She cuffed his hand back to the head board and left the room, slamming the door. Ten minutes later, he heard his car start and as the tires spun and squealed, she drove away. She wasn't coming back. He looked at the table, at the folders that remained where he had set them. They were the only clues he had to her identity...but they were enough. Unstable and over the edge, she was now a danger, not only to the criminals she sought to punish for her pain, but to herself as well.

He had no doubt that he would really be in a world of hurt but for one thing: his sleight of hand ability. It had been no accident when he rebounded off the dresser into her. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled his cell phone out and, praying he had a signal, he flipped it open. With a soft sigh of relief, he called his partner.


	9. Reunion

Eames had rested her head on the conference table, and Ross was sitting nearby, legs propped up on a chair, leaning back. She wasn't sure if he was dozing or not. She had told him he could go home. She was fine where she was, reviewing surveillance videos from their building as well as the one from the store and looking for anything that might give her any indication of where to look for Goren. She had no idea what she was looking for, and she knew she wasn't going to find something that wasn't there, but it was all she had, and she had to do something. No one in the building had seen him leave, although the building's cameras showed him departing alone at eight o'clock. She'd reviewed the footage of the garage, but his car had been parked out of camera range. Other than the normal burst of end of the day traffic, she noticed nothing out of the ordinary. She was reduced to praying an observant cop somewhere would spot his car and call them.

At least Ross had quit saying he'd left intentionally. She knew of no way to convince him Goren would never have done that. The captain did not understand their relationship. Partnership had grown into friendship and they were close. She couldn't explain how she knew from the start that this was not a voluntary excursion on his part. Okay, so maybe it had started as a date, maybe not. He never got into his love life with her, so she wasn't sure if he had a late date last night or not. She was thinking not. Whoever she was, the brief interaction she watched in the convenience store did not suggest intimacy. Now they had proof he was being taken someplace against his will. Ross stayed after everyone else had gone home, reviewing every bit of footage they had, but he had nothing to add.

Exhaustion allowed them both to doze off into a light, fitful sleep. So when her phone rang, it jarred her awake. She glanced at the time as she retrieved the phone from her jacket, draped on the back of her chair. Almost midnight. Who could be calling her at this time? She froze for a moment when she saw the caller ID displayed. _Bobby cell_. Bobby...she felt a jab of ice cold fear...was this the woman in the video, calling to tell her where to find his body?

She glanced at the captain and flipped open the phone, taking care to keep the fear in her gut out of her voice. "Eames."

A moment of silence. _I'm sorry I worried you._

Relief flooded through her, followed by a small wave of amusement. No one else would have been able to read the apprehension she tried to keep from her voice. She made no further attempt to hide her emotions from him. "God, Bobby..." Remembering the captain's presence, she struggled to remain professional. She could deal with everything else later. "Are you all right?"

_Yes._

"Where are you?"

_That's a little bit of a problem. I have no idea. I'm in a farmhouse somewhere outside Schenectady._

"I'll call the locals..."

_No. Listen to me. I'm fine, Eames. But I'm kind of tied up at the moment and I really don't want a shitload of cops all over the place. Just you. Call the phone company and get them to triangulate my signal. Then you can come and get me. Just bring my extra keys; you know where they are in my desk._

"She didn't hurt you?"

_No. Not at all._

"All right. I'll call the phone company now. Just hang tight."

She set the phone down and ran from the room. Ross watched her leave, then reached out and picked up the phone. "Goren?"

He understood the silence that met him. _Uh...Captain?_

"Are you all right?"

_Yes. I'm fine._

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

_Um, no...not right now. It can wait until I get there._

"Just tell me if this was a date gone bad."

_No, sir, it wasn't. It's been...awhile since I've had a date._

"So how did this woman overpower you and kidnap you?"

_She didn't._

"You went along willingly?"

_No, captain. She had a gun to my head. I didn't have much of a choice or you would have been cleaning my brains off my windshield._ He hesitated for a moment. _Why are you there so late?_

"Because one of my detectives went missing and I was worried about his partner, that's why I'm here."

_W-worried about her? Why?_

"Because she was damn near frantic, looking for some clue that would lead us to you. When you do something, you do it good, do you know that?"

_I've been told that before. But this wasn't intentional. I didn't mean to worry her._

Ross was quiet for a moment. "That was a good move, detective, leaving your shield like that."

Goren's reply was quiet. _I did that for Eames._

Ross answered, "I get that. It was the right thing to do."

Another moment of silence. _Thank you, captain._ More hesitation. _Did you, uh, watch out for her?_

"Do you think she needs that?"

_Not really, no. I would say she handled this better than I handled her kidnapping last year.__ Eames can take care of herself. __ But I still watch out for her, whether she needs it or not.  
_

Ross smiled. "I agree that she handled it better than you did. But I wasn't about to leave her here alone, without someone to bounce things off. Just because she can take care of herself doesn't mean she has to do it alone. _That's_ why I'm still here."

More silence. _Thank you._

While she was waiting for the phone company operator to find a supervisor she could talk to, another line lit up. "Son of a bitch..." She reached over and grabbed the phone on Goren's desk. "Eames."

_Hello. Do you work with Detective Goren?_

"I'm his partner."

_Oh... _There was hesitancy in the voice._ I am calling to let you know where he is._

"Who is this?"

_That's not important. There's a small town east of Schenectady called Grooms Corners..._

Eames grabbed a pad and pencil, writing down the directions as the woman on the phone gave them to her. Then she asked, "How do you know where he is?"

_Just tell him...tell him I'm sorry._

The line went dead. She hung up both phones and hurried back to the conference room, surprised to find Ross talking to her partner. "Hold on, detective. Here's your partner."

She took the phone from him, not sure what to make of the captain. Raising the phone to her ear, she said, "I got directions."

_Already?_

"Your date called."

_My what?_

She laughed quietly at his reaction. No, it had never been a date. "I'm joking. She called and told me where you were. She said to tell you that she's sorry."

He was silent. "Bobby?"

_How long will it take you to get here?_

"A couple of hours. What is this all about anyway? What happened?"

_Our vigilante took my bait._

"Our...what? She...you're kidding."

_No. Our vigilante is a woman. Now...I have no idea where she's gone...and she has my car, Eames._

"Your car...and your keys."

_She doesn't know where I live. Oh...shit...she's got my gun, too._

"All right...one thing at a time. Let's get you out of there first. I'm on the way...are you sure you don't want me to send someone..."

_I'm sure. I'm fine with waiting for you. There, uh, there's no crime scene to process. I think I have enough information to give us a chance at finding her. Take your time...and be careful._

"I will."

She closed the phone and looked at Ross. "I'm going to get him."

"I'll go with you."

That surprised her. She expected an argument about letting the locals handle it. "That's not necessary, captain."

"Eames, it's late and it's been a very long day. You've already been to Allentown and back. I'm not going to take the risk of you wrapping your car around a tree on the way to wherever it is Goren's at. I'm going with you."

She waved a hand and headed back toward her desk. "Okay, fine. Give me five minutes."

Ross turned toward the television, studying the scene on the screen. He pressed 'play' and watched Goren for a few minutes. Shaking his head, he turned off the equipment and left the room.

* * *

Eames pulled into the driveway of the empty house. She bolted from the car and, pulling her gun just in case, mounted the steps to the porch. She didn't wait for Ross as she entered the house; her backup was already inside. Quickly securing the lower level and finding it empty, she was charging up the stairs as Ross came in through the front door. Moments later, she was standing in the doorway to the bedroom where her partner sat on the edge of the bed, a sheepish grin on his handsome face. "Hi, Eames," he said softly, and they were the most welcome words she'd ever heard in her life. 

He saw the tension melt away from her like butter in a hot frying pan. She wasn't able to move for a long minute. Finally, she came forward, pulling a set of keys from her pocket. Her eyes scanned his body slowly as she approached, searching for signs of injury. He tipped his head to the side, catching her eyes and holding them. Mesmerized, neither moved. They simply held each other's gaze, uncertain...until Ross appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat, reminding Eames that they weren't alone. Goren looked toward the door with a frown as Eames opened the cuff on his wrist. Rubbing his wrist, he got up from the bed. "Captain," he said by way of greeting.

Ross wondered at the sudden distance that seemed to spring up between the two detectives with his appearance, curious about what their reaction to one another would have been if he had remained downstairs. "Detective."

He watched Goren walk to the table and sit down before a small stack of file folders; Eames finished removing the cuffs from the headboard and slipped them into her pocket. Sensing they wanted to talk but not in front of him, Ross said, "I'll wait down in the car. Don't take too long."

He left. Goren waited until he heard the front door close before he looked up from the files. Eames was sitting on the bed, studying her hands. He was surprised to see her tremble. Getting up, he went over to the bed and sat beside her, leaning forward to look into her face. "Hey..."

As she leaned into him, he straightened and slid his arms around her. Burying her face in his chest, she wrapped her arms around him and tightened them. He rubbed her back and rested his cheek against her head. Neither said a word; none were necessary.

When she finally pulled away, he let her go. She looked up at him, eyes moist, and reached her hand out to lightly run her fingers down the side of his face. When his eyes slid closed at her touch, she drew her fingers along the line of his jaw. He slid his hand along her waist in a light caress. A moment later, her lips lightly touched his. A soft gasp of surprise escaped from him and he opened his eyes to look at her. Their faces were separated by inches, and neither of them moved for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, she pulled away, slid off the bed and walked out of the room. He took a moment to recover before he grabbed the files and followed her.

* * *

Ross looked up as the two detectives came out of the house. He got out of the car and slid into the back seat. Waiting until they were situated in the car, he said, "They found your car, Goren." 

Both detectives turned to face him. "Where?" Goren asked.

"On Long Island Sound, near Manhasset. I told them not to touch it until our guys get there. CSU is on the way to process it. They'll bring it back to Manhattan."

Goren nodded and leaned back in his seat, looking out the window. Eames watched him for a moment, then started the car and backed out of the driveway.


	10. A Place to Start

The ride back to Manhattan was long and silent. Eames was dying to talk to her partner, but she didn't want to talk in front of Ross. She made up her mind that when they left to go home, he was going home with her, whether he wanted to or not. She could usually convince him to do things her way.

As they approached the headquarters building, Eames looked at the captain. "Captain Ross?"

"Yes?"

"If it's all right with you, I'd like to just drop you off at headquarters and take Bobby home. You can debrief him tomorrow, after he's rested."

Goren shook his head. "We need to find out who she is, Eames. And then go out to Long Island with a warrant."

"Long Island?"

"She lives on Long Island."

"You believe her?"

"I have no reason not to."

When she began to shake her head, he added, "If I'm wrong, you can say 'I told you so'."

"You always tell me that."

"How often have you been able to take me up on it?"

"Bite me, Goren. Besides, you think she's going to be sitting on her living room couch, waiting for you to come calling?"

"She thinks I don't know who she is."

"You don't."

"But not for long."

As much as he found himself enjoying these two partners in action, Ross interrupted the discussion. "All right. We'll compromise. Go home, both of you. Get some sleep and come in this afternoon. Then we'll talk and you can continue investigating this case."

Goren opened his mouth to protest, but Ross cut him off. "Think of your partner, Goren. She drove to Allentown and back yesterday and then, after midnight, to Schenectady and back. She's pushing 24 hours with no sleep. If you stay to work on this case, she will as well. You know that."

Eames looked in the rearview mirror at the captain, her face dark. "Do _not _use me as a pawn to get him to do what you want, captain."

"Fine. You reason with him. He's your partner."

Annoyed at being spoken about as if he were not there, Goren snapped, "I have work to do. Eames can go home if she wants to. I don't need anyone to hold my hand."

"I'm fine," she replied.

Ross threw his hands in the air. "All right, fine. But Logan or Wheeler can drive if you have to go anyplace. I don't want either of you behind the wheel. And that's final."

Neither detective spoke again for the rest of the ride, to Ross or to one another.

* * *

Goren found an empty conference room and tossed the files onto the table, pulling a chair up and dropping into it. He was angry, at Ross and at Eames. He hated being treated like he was made of porcelain, and he would not be pandered to, like a child. Even more, he hated being talked about right in front of his face. They knew he was pissed, too. When he got out of the car in the parking garage, he'd slammed the door and ignored them when they called to him. He'd taken the stairs up and gone directly into the conference room. He knew he wouldn't be alone for long, but it would give him time to calm himself down. Dealing with his partner when he was angry was, historically, a very bad idea. 

By the time the door opened and Eames came in, carrying two cups of coffee, he was much calmer. She kicked the door closed, set down the coffee cups and pulled up a chair, sitting near him. He took his coffee cup and raised his eyes toward her without moving his head. "Thanks. I, um, I just had a really bad day and a half. Sorry." He laid a hand on the three open files on the table in front of him. "We need to figure out who she is...and find her."

Rising, he walked to the bulletin board and tacked up the three photos from the files. Pointing at the young boy, he said, "Connor, her brother...tortured and killed by a repeat offender when he was twelve." Next, the little girl. "Chelsea, her daughter...tortured and killed by a repeat offender when she was six." And the couple. "Harry, her husband..."

"Don't tell me...tortured and killed by a repeat offender?"

"Indirectly. He couldn't handle what was done to his little girl. He committed suicide during the trial. She found him."

"Geez...no wonder she snapped."

He moved over to the easel in the corner and uncapped a marker. "She was careful to mark out every surname in the news articles, as well as the paper's edition and the dates they were published. But she grew up on Long Island, according to the article about Connor, and she still lived there when she lost her daughter and her husband, in Syosset. My car was dumped near Manhasset, and that's not far. The little girl's body was found in Morningside Heights, so guess whose case it was?"

"Manhattan SVU."

He half-grinned. "Time to do some more touching."

"I hope you mean that figuratively."

His face eased into a full grin and the hard edge left his manner. "Come on, Eames. Let's get Logan to drop us off over at the Special Victim's squad room."

* * *

The SVU squad room was its usual bustle of activity when they arrived. Munch was the first to spot them. "What brings the two of you to our humble hole-in-the-wall?" 

Eames smiled. "We have some questions about a case from last year. The body was found in Morningside Heights, so it would have been your case."

"Do you have a name?"

"Just a first name," Goren answered. "Chelsea."

"Chelsea...How old?"

"Six."

Goren handed him the picture. Munch shook his head. "She doesn't belong to Fin and me. Ask Stabler or Benson." He looked around for one of the detectives, and pointed. "Over there."

Eames nodded. "Thanks, John."

"No problem."

As they headed toward Stabler and Benson, Eames said, "Let me do the talking. This is their turf, and not the place for you and Elliot to play alpha dog."

He looked wounded. "I don't."

"Yeah, right. Just remember I'm wearing boots today."

Stabler had seen them approaching and was moving toward them—to greet them, in Eames' mind, and to challenge them, in Goren's. His first comment was "I saw the paper. Just how close _are_ you to finding him?"

"Her," Eames corrected. "And very close. Is there someplace we can talk?"

"Yeah, sure." He motioned to Benson. "C'mon this way."

He led them to a conference room, where Benson joined them. While Eames said hello to the two detectives, Goren walked to the table, sat and opened his binder. Eames watched him for a moment, then sighed silently and walked over to sit beside him as Stabler and Benson sat opposite them.

Goren set the photo in the middle of the table, turned it toward them and moved it closer. "Her name is Chelsea. She was six. They found her in Morningside Heights after being abducted from her yard in Syosset. She was tortured and killed by a man named Steven Thomas Turner."

Stabler studied the picture, eyes filled with recognition. He leveled a suspicious glare in Goren's direction. "What about her?"

Goren was quickly losing patience. "What can you tell us about her?"

Stabler's eyes narrowed. "We closed her case last year. What possible relevance can she have to anything you're working on?"

"Does it matter?"

At exactly the same moment, Eames and Benson each smacked their respective partners. When they turned to object, Eames placed a finger against her lips and said, "Just keep quiet, will you?"

In a voice carrying more of an edge, Benson told her partner, "Let me handle this, Elliot."

Eames held Goren's gaze for a few moments more, long enough to assure him she wasn't mad, but to also warn him that she would be if he didn't behave. His expression told her that he didn't think he'd done anything wrong. She turned back to face the SVU detectives, giving his leg an affectionate caress of reassurance. Her mouth rose in a half smile when she heard his breath softly hitch. Satisfied that she had made her point, she gestured toward the picture of the little girl. "We are not invading your turf, Stabler," she said, her tone clearly relaying the fact that she meant business. "If you will help us out, we'll be able to decide if your case has any relevance to ours."

Before Stabler could reply, Benson said, "What do you want to know?"

"Her full name, parents' names and address at the time she disappeared."

Benson turned to Stabler. "Would you please go and pull the file, El?"

"A closed file a year old? I'll have to go down to records..."

She smiled. "Thanks."

He stared at her for a moment before getting up from the table, glaring at Goren and leaving the room. Eames was frowning. "What is his problem?"

"Elliot has a certain way of seeing things and set ideas about how people should behave in certain circumstances..."

Goren turned his attention to the file in front of him. "He doesn't like me."

Benson watched him, uncertain how to interpret his tone or his manner. "In a nutshell...yes."

He shrugged. "I'm used to it."

Trying for reassurance, she said, "You shouldn't be. You're a good cop."

"I know that. But I don't do things the way everyone else does." He looked up and waved a hand dismissively. "Never mind; it doesn't matter. The only one whose opinion matters to me is my partner."

Eames suppressed a smile. She would have been embarrassed if she didn't know he really meant it. He returned his attention to the file and did not look up when Stabler returned, which annoyed the SVU detective. He slammed the file on the table and sat down.

Benson opened the folder and looked for the name they wanted. "Here it is. Her last name was Adenauer. Chelsea Adenauer. Her parents are Harry and Larissa."

"Do you have an address?"

"Why?" Stabler demanded.

If Eames hadn't known Goren so well, there would have been trouble. But when she grabbed his knee and squeezed, he forgot about Stabler and shifted his gaze toward her. Her eyes blazed a warning, which she knew he understood. Withdrawing her hand, she turned back to look at Benson. "Would you mind writing the address down for us, Olivia?"

"Sure."

Stabler continued watching them. "Why do you want it?"

Goren studied him for a long moment before he finally answered, "Because Mrs. Adenauer is our vigilante."

He got to his feet and reclaimed the photo, returning it to his file and closing it as Benson handed Eames the address in Syosset. Eames smiled at them as Goren headed for the door. "Thanks, guys."

"Eames..." Stabler called to her as she got to the door. "What are you going to do?"

She met the man's bright blue eyes. "Our job, Stabler," she answered without hesitation, and she followed Goren out of the conference room.

Goren put in a call to Logan. Fifteen minutes later, the car pulled up and they got in. Logan looked from one to the other before he pulled away from the curb. "So, how'd it go?"

Goren was shuffling papers. "We got what we wanted," he answered absently. "Um, we need you to take us out to Syosset."

"Exactly why does Ross think you need a chaperone?"

"Chauffeur, asshole," Goren snapped. "Neither of us has slept and he thinks we're safer riding with you. Obviously, he's never been for a ride with you."

"Ha, ha. You could always take the subway."

"We could. You're more interesting, though."

"Thanks...I think. Syosset, huh? You looking for a hit man in slippers and an ascot?"

"Slippers and a housecoat, more likely. It's a woman we're looking for."

He looked surprised and shifted his gaze toward Eames. "A woman, huh?"

"Surprised, Logan?"

"Not really. Women are just as capable of committing crimes as men. They're just normally less inclined to do it."

"Not if they're pushed over the edge, like she was," Goren answered.

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Defending her?"

Goren shook his head, still not looking up. "Explaining her."

Logan looked at him, then glanced at Eames. "You ever get the feeling he's ignoring you?"

"Never. Don't let him fool you; he doesn't miss anything, do you, Goren?"

"Not usually."

Logan laughed, amused. "Okay, fine...Syosset, here we come..."


	11. On the Trail

The Adenauer residence was a neat, comfortable house. The two oak trees in front were losing their leaves, but the lawn was well manicured and the fence surrounding the front yard looked freshly painted. A cool evening breeze blew in from the east as Goren opened the gate and held it for Eames. Logan followed behind her. They stepped up onto the porch and rang the bell. No answer. Goren knocked firmly as Eames called out, "Mrs. Adenauer, this is the police. Please open up."

Goren tried the doorknob, and it turned freely. With a frown, he looked at Eames and Logan. They drew their weapons and carefully stepped into the house. Cautiously, they moved from room to room. Nothing seemed out of place. On the second level, Goren opened the first door they came to. The little girl's room lay untouched. Eames felt an overwhelming wave a sadness as she looked at the bed with its pink comforter, the stuffed animals and dolls set lovingly around the room, and a stack of still-wrapped presents carefully placed in the far corner beside the closet door. Pictures of teddy bears in different outfits adorned the walls and a large Victorian dollhouse dominated one corner. She looked at Goren, who was watching her. Without a word, she turned, pushed past Logan and left the little girl's room.

Logan caught Goren's eyes and shrugged. Goren held his eyes for a moment longer, then turned back to the room. He checked the closet and, finding nothing abnormal, he left the room with Logan right behind him, closing the door softly. They moved to the next room, where Eames was waiting just inside the doorway. The master bedroom, like the little girl's room, lay untouched. Quietly, Goren made his observations. "Undisturbed dust on all the surfaces. Fresh vacuum runners in the carpet. She vacuums, probably dusts once a week. The carpet is undisturbed." He walked into the room and opened the closet door. "Only men's clothes." He moved into the master bathroom. "No makeup, a full roll of toilet paper, no soap or shampoo..."

Stepping back into the bedroom, he looked at Eames and Logan. "She doesn't use this room. She takes care of both these bedrooms, but they are...shrines...to-to the memories of her...lost family."

He moved past them. They looked at each other and followed him down the hall. He paused at the bathroom. "Makeup, towels, bath products...this is the bathroom she uses."

They continued to the last bedroom. Clothes were laid out over the unmade bed. Two photo albums were laying on one side of the bed, one of them open. They looked at the pictures that were on the open pages. The one on the left was a family portrait. The opposite page contained four candid shots of the little girl and her father. "Oh, Bobby," Eames whispered, voice choked by the overpowering grief that permeated the entire upper level of the house.

He let her step into him and he hugged her. His eyes remained drawn to the pictures and his mind recalled the hours of his imprisonment and the conversations he'd had with Larissa Adenauer. "She's not here any more," he said quietly. "She's not coming back."

Eames nodded and stepped from his arms. Logan waited by the door, moving aside when Eames stepped past him out of the room. He looked at Goren, the trace of a smirk on his face. Goren's eyes narrowed in warning and he moved past him out of the room. Logan let out a soft laugh and followed him out of the room and down the stairs.

Once downstairs, Goren walked back into the kitchen, opening the freezer and then the refrigerator as Eames came up beside him. "Slim pickings," she said.

"She never planned to come back after she took me. She had this all worked out."

"Took you where?" Logan asked, confused.

"Had what all worked out?" Eames asked at the same moment.

Without answering, he opened the door to the garage and stepped into the dark interior, flipping on the light and looking around. A minivan was parked in the one-car garage. He made his way around the vehicle. "A work bench and tools over here on this side..." Crossing back in front of the van, he moved toward the garage door and opened the garbage can that was set just inside the overhead door. "Empty."

Eames stood in the kitchen doorway, waiting for him. He rejoined her and they returned to the kitchen, where Logan was going through the cabinets. Goren moved into the living room, settling in a chair in front of a small desk in the corner. Sifting through the papers on the desk, he spoke softly, "Credit card bills...she has three, two Mastercards and a Visa. Utility bills, mortgage, uh...Eames...sh-she just made the last payment to the funeral home for the two funerals."

Eames picked up a newspaper from the coffee table. "Here's your article, Bobby. She circled the paragraph where your buddy quotes you as saying we're closing in on our suspect."

As Logan came into the room, he leaned back in the chair, a thoughtful look on his face as he leafed through her dayplanner. "Landis...Hernandez...She has their names here on the date their trials began. Uh, there are three more names here...That newspaper article...threw a monkey wrench into her plans. She thought we had figured her out...and...she disagreed with our assessment." The look on his face changed, and he was no longer talking to her and Logan; he was thinking out loud. "She...felt driven by a need to...explain herself to me...so I would know she's not a monster. It was the monsters she was ridding society of. She needed...to let me know she was...better than the men she killed." He was lost in his thoughts, maintaining a connection to his colleagues by continuing to talk. "In her mind, it was no worse than swatting a fly or a mosquito. Sh-she wanted me to agree with her, to give her validation and vindication, but I couldn't do that. She was mad because I would not tell her she was right, because in her mind, she was dispensing true justice."

He shook his head, snapping himself from his reflections. "We need to find her."

Eames watched him continuing to search through the desk. "Do you think she stole another car?"

He pulled a file from a drawer. "No. She took the motorcycle. After she ditched my car, she came back here and took the motorcycle." He held up the file. "Here's all the information on it...maintenance records, insurance, title..."

She watched him get to his feet, recognizing the familiar excitement of the chase in his face and manner. But there was something different about this one. An air of urgency tempered his reaction. She locked the door as they followed him from the house.

During the ride back to the squad room, he explained to Logan what had happened to him at the hands of Larissa Adenauer. Logan listened intently, then glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "You're sure she didn't whack you in the head?"

"Just drive, Logan. I have work to do."

Logan looked at Eames, who shrugged before turning in her seat to look at her partner. He had buried himself back in the papers on his lap. With a soft sigh, she turned to face front and talked with Logan, knowing that Goren would not hear a word they said. His mind had gone someplace neither of them could follow...and from which only she could get him back.

* * *

Eames fell asleep with her head resting on folded arms at the far side of the conference table, and he let her sleep as he continued working. It was after nine when she woke, not surprised to find him engrossed in the flood of papers scattered across the table. She was used to Goren's explosions of activity when he was on the trail of a suspect, but there was something else driving him, and she was at a loss to define it. He rose from his chair, taking with him the paper he was reading. He grabbed a sandwich, set it on a covered cup and carried both to her, setting them by her as he returned to his seat. "Thanks," she said as she stretched with a quiet moan and deep intake of breath. 

He glanced up when he heard the soft moan, watching her lean against the chair back to work the kinks out of her back muscles. His mouth twitched into a small smile which was gone by the time his eyes returned to the papers in front of him.

He sifted through a few more papers, then suddenly swore and jumped from his chair, hurrying out the door. She went after him. He studied the paper in his hand as he walked toward their desks, where he grabbed the phone and made a call. She tried to make heads or tails of the conversation, but he was being short with the person on the other end. Dropping the phone into its cradle, he wrote something on the paper, then went to the captain's office. Eames was not surprised that the captain was still there. He would not let himself drift outside the loop if he could help it, and he knew Goren was onto something.

She was surprised that Goren took it on himself to talk to their captain. Usually he let her interface with Ross; there was less tension between her and the captain. She started in that direction, but he came charging from the office before she got there, nearly running her over. He caught her by the shoulders when she began to stumble backwards. "Come on, Eames."

His excitement was palpable as he hurried past her. "Where are we going?"

"On a road trip. She was in Chicago at dinnertime, and she stopped for the night in Iowa City. We flagged her credit cards, and this..." He waved the paper in the air. "...was in the stack of papers I was going through. She got food and gas at 6:18 this evening, and charged a room...twenty minutes ago. She has about eighteen hours on us. We need to get moving."

"You are _not_ driving, Goren..." she warned as she started after him.

"Eames!"

Annoyed, she turned to face the captain as he came out of his office, glancing over her shoulder as Goren vanished into the conference room to gather everything together. "What is it, captain?"

"Keep me informed. I want regular updates. And keep an eye on him. Make sure he rests."

"I'll do my best."

"I'm sure you can handle him. Don't let him get out of control...and be careful."

She nodded and headed for the conference room. She met him at the door and pressed her hands against his chest. "Slow down there. Before we go anywhere, we have to stop at our places and at least get clothes." When he opened his mouth to object, she shook her head and wagged a finger at him. "Oh, no...don't even say it. I am not going on a cross country chase and staying in these clothes for the next week, and neither are you."

He let out a huff of frustration. "All right, Eames...let's just hurry."

"We could fly, you know...rent a car at O'Hare..."

He shook his head. "It'd take too long. We wouldn't get in the air until close to three...and then she'd be on the road again before we got there. We need the flexibility of a car. Come on."

A road trip...wonderful...


	12. Closing the Gap

They went to his place first and then to hers. After she'd packed a bag, she returned to the car where he waited, tossed the bag in the back seat with his, and slid back behind the wheel, gripping the keys in her hand as she turned to face him. After a moment, he pulled himself from the file and looked at her. Reaching over, she pushed his binder closed and pulled it from his lap, placing it on the back seat. He frowned. "Eames..."

"No. You're going to listen to me. First, I'm done chasing you around. I want to know exactly what you're thinking. Second, you are going to get some sleep or I'm stopping for the night. At least six hours, Bobby, and then...you can drive while I sleep. No negotiation or I swear I'll mail that damn binder home."

He studied her face before finally letting out a heavy sigh. "Fine. I can't promise I'll be able to sleep, though."

"Do your best." She started the car. "Now talk to me. What's going on inside that head of yours? Why the urgency?" 

He looked out the window, watching her neighborhood go by. "I-I just have a bad feeling about this. She...she's never gotten over her losses. Most people grieve and then find their way back to life and move on. She hasn't been able to do that."

"Bobby...going through that house, I couldn't help thinking about how I would feel if my nephew had been the victim. It was almost overwhelming. I could never work Special Victims; I'd be seeing Jake in every face. Thank God we don't deal with children too often. And I know firsthand what it's like to lose a husband. It's devastating. But to lose a child and then a husband like that...your entire family, your whole life... I can imagine her pain, and yet I can't."

He understood loss only too well...and he knew despair. But he also knew the journey back, and that was a road Larissa could not find. "She can't deal with it, Eames. I don't know where she's going, but I'm afraid of what her intentions are when she gets there. That's why we have to find her...before it's too late."

"Too late? Too late for what?"

He skimmed his hand through his hair and shifted his position. "Some people are able to cope and then move on. Some can't."

Her mind was beginning to follow his down a very dark road. "So the urgency in finding her is because..."

She trailed off, waiting for him to complete the sentence. He was struggling to control his agitation. "I'm worried about her state of mind."

"We can't prosecute a corpse, right?"

He didn't answer her. Turning, he looked out the window into the night as she headed out of the city toward Interstate 80. She changed the direction of the conversation, not quite sure why he was shutting down on her and not at all certain she liked it. Since his mother's death, something inside him had changed and he had been a lot more open with her. She hated to think they might be backsliding. "What happens when we find her?"

He shrugged. "We arrest her."

"How do you think she'll do in jail?"

"I...I don't know. But once we turn her over to the DA, it's out of our hands."

She was quiet for a little while. "Do you agree with her, Bobby?"

"No. But I understand her. What she did was wrong, but I understand the anger and frustration that drove her to do it."

"It's not about that, though, is it? Not entirely."

"I thought you wanted me to sleep, Eames."

"Bobby..."

He sighed heavily. "No. It's not about that. She needs help, and she's not getting it."

"She got to you."

"I wouldn't say that. She was still wrong and I let her know that. Regardless of her motivation, I couldn't agree with what she did, even if I wanted to. But that doesn't mean I want something to happen to her."

_"Do _you want to agree with her?"

He shrugged again. "It doesn't matter." He crossed his arms and settled back in the seat, uncomfortable with the conversation. "Wake me up when you get tired."

This time she let him retreat. She had alot to think about. She tried to put herself in Larissa Adenauer's place with only partial success. Losing Joe had been hard; she still had not found it in her heart to forgive the man who took his life, and nearly ten years had passed. On the other hand, where criminals were concerned, she had a limited capacity for empathy, at least compared to her partner. She looked over at him. His breathing had deepened and he seemed to be sleeping. She knew that if she just got him to quiet down and settle, his exhaustion would catch up with him and he would sleep. She had not been wrong. She continued to let her thoughts roam as she headed west.

* * *

The second time she stopped for gas, he stirred. Slowly sitting up, he looked around, struggling to clear his sleep-blurred mind. He had no idea where they were, and that unsettled him. Pushing the door open, he got out and stretched, breathing deeply of the night air. "Hey, sleepyhead," Eames said with a tired smile from the gas pump. 

"Uh, what time is it?"

"Four-twenty."

"Where are we?"

"We just left Pennsylvania and crossed into Ohio."

"Four...we-we're not going to catch up to her before she gets back on the road."

"Sorry. This is not a rocketship."

The look he gave her made her stifle a laugh. She knew he was serious, and she knew well how he got when he was on the trail, but she could not resist an opportunity to tease him. "Eames..." he muttered, trying hard to contain his restless anxiety.

She cut him some slack and gave him a smile, allowing the conversation to turn in the direction he wanted it to. "Do you think she knows we're following her?"

He shook his head. "N-no. She doesn't realize we know who she is." He leaned back against the car and ran a hand over his hair. "But I get the feeling she knows where she's going...and she's anxious to get there."

"Two questions, Bobby. Where is she going and when will _we_ get there?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, Eames."

"I don't find that answer reassuring at all, you know."

He gave her a small smile and shoved himself off the car. "Coffee?"

She shook her head. "It's my turn to sleep. How about orange juice?" As an afterthought, remembering the last time she got in the car with him behind the wheel, she added, "And a sedative."

"Very funny, Eames," he replied as he walked away.

"You can pay for the gas while you're in there," she shot back.

He waved a hand and continued across the parking lot.

* * *

The desk clerk studied the picture of Larissa Adenauer before handing it back to Eames. "Yeah. She checked out this morning." He leafed through a small stack of index cards. "Here it is. Larissa Ad-Ad...uh, whatever. Checked out at 8:15 this morning." 

"Can you tell us anything else?" Eames asked.

The young man shook his head, handing her the card. "She was riding a motorcycle. Pretty lady..."

Annoyed, Goren asked, "Did you see which direction she took off in?"

"She headed back toward the highway."

Eames handed the card back to him. There was nothing on it they didn't know. "Thanks."

As they headed back to the car, Goren pulled out his phone and dialed. He had an animated conversation with the person on the other end, before leaning on the hood of the car and writing something in his leather binder. Then he turned to his patiently waiting partner. "8:15...that's seven hours..." His mind drifted for a moment. "I, uh, I think she's using more than one credit card, possibly one in her husband's name. Or she had cash with her yesterday...Logan's going to find out some things for me."

She held out her hand for the keys, which he surrendered without comment. It took almost more effort than she had to finally convince him to try sleeping again, but he consented after getting her to promise to wake him when Logan called. He wasn't sure if she was serious about "tossing the damn file out the window," but he decided not to take any chances.

* * *

It was around six when his phone rang and she answered it. It was Logan. She asked him to hold on and woke Goren. It wasn't more than a few words into the conversation before he sat straighter, fully awake. A few minutes later he ended the conversation. "Thanks, Mike. Keep me posted." 

He closed the phone absently and stared out the window. She waited a few minutes before saying, "Hey--how about keeping _me _posted?"

"What? Oh, sorry, Eames. Where are we?"

"Omaha."

"She's in Laramie. She stopped..." He looked at the time on the radio. "About an hour ago. That's all he found out so far. Do you want me to drive?"

"No, I do not. I told you this wasn't a rocketship and I don't plan to have you turn it into one."

He huffed impatiently. "Just...hurry, okay?"

"Go back to sleep or I'll talk to Logan myself next time."

"Eames..."

She glanced at him and he dropped his protest. He tried to go back to sleep, but his mind was too busy to let him rest. So he sat silently watching the flat scenery of Nebraska whiz by at eighty-five miles an hour, and he let his mind wander, trying to figure out where Larissa was going. He found it even more difficult to keep his thoughts away from what he feared she intended once she got there.

* * *


	13. Slipping Away

The clerk at the motel just off the highway in Laramie pulled a stack of cards from a drawer. "Here she is...where did you say you're from, detectives?"

"New York," Eames replied, feeling the impatient anxiety rolling off her partner. "Has she checked out?"

"Yeah, at 10:13."

"How did she seem?" Goren asked. "Was she nervous?"

"Didn't seem to be, no. Wasn't much for small talk either. I asked her where she was headed but all she'd say was 'west.' She got a soda from the machine over there and left."

"Thank you," Eames replied and she followed Goren from the office.

Once in the parking lot, she stopped at the front of the car and pointed down the road. "There's a diner right over there, Bobby. We're going in to eat a decent meal. I'm tired of eating burgers on the fly. We can spare 45 minutes for something to eat that isn't fried and dripping with grease."

He opened his mouth to argue, but the look on her face told him he'd be wasting his time. Unless he was willing to leave her behind, which he was not for several reasons that had nothing to do with the fact that she still had the keys, they were going to eat at that diner. He could hot wire the car, a remnant skill from his teen years, but that would also hot wire his partner and wisely, he did not want to go there. So his only reply was a nod of assent that he tried not to make appear impatient. He hated delays, but for her, a decent meal was not asking too much.

* * *

The meal passed mostly in silence. He was anxious to get back on the road and she was fighting exhaustion. "Four hours," he muttered out of the blue once they were done eating. 

"Four hours for what?"

"We've cut her lead down to four hours. If she stops for the night one more time, we'll catch up to her. Are you ready to go?"

She nodded. "Yes. I'm ready."

While he paid the bill, she went into the restroom to wash up. Joining him by the front door, she said, "Promise me that we'll stop at a motel once we have her in custody. I'm dying for a shower. Washing and changing in gas station restrooms just doesn't cut it for me."

A small smile flickered across his face. "I promise."

She held out the keys as they approached the car. "Just wait until I'm asleep before you break the sound barrier."

"You're not funny, Eames."

She laughed quietly as he unlocked the car and they climbed in. She was sleeping before they left the Laramie city limits.

* * *

Eames woke well after sunup and tried to stretch the kinks out of her back. "A shower and a bed," she muttered irritably. "That's all I ask." 

"I know where she's heading, Eames."

She could feel his excitement and was impressed that he'd let her sleep. "Have you developed ESP?"

"Not hardly. Mike Logan. I had him talk to her family members and any friends he could locate, to get their opinions of where she might be going. She's heading to Rockport, California."

"Okay, genius. And you know this how?"

"Her husband was from northern California. They met in Sacramento. He proposed to her on a bluff outside Rockport, overlooking the Pacific at sundown. Eames, today would have been their anniversary. She's planning to be in Rockport, on that bluff, by sundown tonight."

Eames learned long ago to trust his intuition. "So how do we find this bluff?"

He sighed heavily. "We catch up to her before she gets there. Otherwise, we trust ourselves to pure, stupid luck."

"I vote for catching her beforehand. But first...how about a bathroom break...and breakfast?"

He fought down his urge to continue on. She deserved consideration for putting up with his single-minded determination as well as she did. "All right, Eames. We can stop."

"Where are we?"

"Elko, Nevada."

"Are you serious? What did you do? Fly?"

"It's been seven hours."

"Has it really? I must have been exhausted."

"I'd say so. And you snore."

"I do not."

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Sure you do."

She glared at him, catching a gleam in his eyes that she had not seen in a long time, and she couldn't help smiling. "Liar."

He let the smile through as he pulled off the highway, searching for a place to get her a decent meal. She was content when he found a pancake house. As they left the car and headed for the restaurant, she gave him a critical look. "Do I really snore?"

"I guess you'll never know, huh?"

She gave him a playful shove and he laughed, pulling open the door and letting her precede him into the building.

* * *

After their meal, they headed back for the car, and she held out her hand for the keys. He passed them to her without protest. He was too keyed up to sleep, but it was probably a good idea for her to drive. He'd already pushed the Explorer hard, and it probably needed a break. Ross would blow gasket if he blew one on the SUV. 

In spite of his restlessness, he was able to doze lightly after about a half hour on the road. He woke an hour later and looked around. "Still in Nevada?"

"Yes, Buck Rogers. We're still in Nevada...and I'm stopping for coffee."

"Okay, stop for coffee."

"You've mellowed out."

"We have a destination...and we're close. I'm hoping to catch her before we get to Rockport, but if we don't we at least know where she's going."

"Do you really think that's where she's headed?"

"I'm certain it is. Trust me."

She glanced at him. "I do trust you, Bobby. That's why I'm here."

He met her eyes for a second before she returned her attention back to the road. "Thank you, Eames."

A smile touched her mouth as she eased the SUV onto an exit ramp and headed for the truck stop at the end of the road. Parking the car, she got out and stretched her arms over her head. "'Welcome to Humboldt'," she read. Looking around she added, "The booming metropolis of Humboldt, Nevada."

"It's nice. Quiet. Quite a change from what we're used to. There's no sense of urgency here."

"Not unless someone gets within twenty feet of you, partner."

He let a smile touch his eyes in response to her light teasing. "Let's get your coffee and get back on the road. I can drive."

"Not yet, thank you."

He shrugged. "Have it your way."

"Nice try, though."

Another half-smile teased his mouth as he opened the door for her. "At least I offered."

She led the way to the row of industrial coffee machines at the far side of the convenience store setup. "You know better."

As she grabbed a cup and a pot of coffee, he set a handful of sugar packets on the counter beside her and poured his own cup. "Are you hungry?"

"Not right now. Are you?"

"No."

"Then let's get back on the road. The sooner we catch up with her, the sooner I get my shower."

After checking out, she watched him as they headed back toward the Explorer. Although he was still brimming with restless anxiety, there was a calm about him that had been absent before. They were closing in and he was preparing himself for the encounter. Like any predator poised for the final assault, his body was pent up with unspent energy. But he always approached their interrogations with a veneer of controlled calm, regardless of what emotions roiled beneath the surface.

He'd made a connection to this suspect, and he'd drawn forth a sympathy and an understanding of her, neither of which surprised Eames. She found herself understanding the woman's motivation and garnering a certain sympathy for her losses, but not for the actions those losses had driven her to. That was Goren's forte, getting into the minds of the people they pursued. But she would never understand the sympathy that sometimes interfered with his better judgment, and that was one part of his character she admired but wanted no part of. She accepted him the way he was, but that didn't mean she fully understood him.

Back on the road, she eased into the light traffic that followed the westbound highway. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she watched a large pickup gaining rapidly on them. Shaking her head, she commented, "I wish this was our jurisdiction. Look at this asshole. He's doing a hundred easy."

Goren turned in his seat to watch the truck cut off two people. "Reckless," he muttered. "Here he comes."

Eames glanced at the truck as it drew up beside them. The passenger, a young man in a white t-shirt and cowboy hat, laughed and held up a beer in toast to her as they shot past them. "Great," she muttered, easing off the accelerator.

The truck encroached on the bumper of the car in front of it, then swung suddenly to the right. Unfortunately, he misjudged his distance. "Eames! Watch out!"

The warning came too late as the truck clipped the bumper of the Explorer, sending it spinning into a guardrail, crashing through it and down a small embankment where it came to rest on its side.

Back on the highway, the truck continued on its way, leaving behind the wrecked Explorer as three other cars came screeching to a stop on the shoulder. Several men ran down the embankment while another pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911.


	14. Detoured

Goren woke in an ambulance, disoriented and in pain. The two paramedics held him down. "Easy...calm down, buddy..."

"Eames...where's my partner?"

"She's in another ambulance. Take it easy...you're going to pull out your IV."

Gradually he settled. "Is she all right?"

"Yes. She was conscious when we got there, and worried about you."

"How-how badly hurt was she?"

The other paramedic shook his head. "Not badly. You took a harder hit. The entire passenger side of the car was caved in. You got lucky."

His eyes scanned the confined space of the ambulance compartment. "Uh, is there someplace we can rent a car?"

It took no advanced training to see the pain that shone bright in the injured man's eyes. Both men stared at him as though they hadn't understood his question before one finally replied, "Rent a car? The only place you're going is to the hospital."

Goren pushed himself up onto his elbows, grunting softly as the pain intensified across his side. He felt a gush of warm fluid and looked down to see a rapidly spreading pool of red soak his shirt and the sheets beneath him. With a muttered swear, the man directly beside him ordered, "Lay back...now! We missed something, Sam!"

With a quiet groan, he did as he was told. Fire burned hot in his side as they pulled his shirt open and everything faded to black.

* * *

Eames was pacing outside her partner's ER cubicle, a bandage on her forehead and her left wrist wrapped in a brace that extended up her forearm almost to her elbow. She moved with a limp from a solid blow to her right knee. She was sore, but no longer in a great deal of pain. Right now she was worried about her partner. They were still in there with him and no one was telling her anything. The paramedics told her he'd regained consciousness in the ambulance but he'd developed a complication. She hated that word, complication, although it was one she could apply to Goren on an almost daily basis in one way or another. The hurried comings and goings of the nurses from the cubicle did nothing to reassure her. 

As the frantic activity eased, her anxiety increased. Finally, she stopped one of the nurses. "Is he all right?"

The nurse looked at her. "Are you family?"

"About the only family he has. I'm his partner, and I have medical proxy for him. Is he all right?"

"He is now. You can go in."

"Thank you."

The first thing that caught her attention was all the blood, but he was sitting up, chest wrapped in bandages, watching a nurse remove the IV from his right hand. A look of profound relief washed over his face when he saw her, and he gave her a smile. "Ouch," he said quietly in reference to the accident.

She laughed softly, relieved that he seemed to be all right. "Ross is going to be pissed."

"Tell him I was driving."

"Oh, God, no. That would be worse. Besides, he'll get a copy of the accident report."

"Did you talk to the locals?"

"Briefly."

"Uh, in my binder...I wrote down the license plate of the pickup as it came up on us."

She smiled. "Good boy. They said the car was towed to the police yard...they are going to go over it, just to make sure there were no contributing factors on our part."

Another smile touched his face. "Looking for drugs and alcohol to implicate the big city cops in a highway accident?"

"I guess. Any idea how much longer you'll be?"

"I'm almost done. We need to rent a car and get back on the road."

"You can drive."

He laughed, and then winced as fire flared in his side. "I'm doomed," he groaned. "Please don't make me laugh."

"Behave yourself and I'll do my best." She studied him for a moment. "Rib fractures?"

"Four of them. And a nasty laceration on top of that. Throw in a concussion and a bruised hip, and that about sums it up. You?"

"Forehead laceration, sprained wrist and a nasty bruise on my knee. We were lucky. I can't wait to see the car."

"How long have we been here?"

"A couple of hours, I think."

A nurse approached him with a clipboard, reading his discharge instructions and handing him a prescription. She looked at Eames. "Are you going with him?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what to watch for in a concussion victim?"

"Yes, I do."

"Keep an eye on him. If you have trouble waking him, get him to an emergency room."

"I'll take care of him."

The nurse nodded and looked at Goren. "You can go, detective. Just take it easy."

He nodded as he carefully slid off the stretcher. Picking up his bloody shirt, he turned it around and studied it, muttering, "I need a clean shirt."

Eames watched him gingerly pull on his lightweight jacket and zip it up, then she said, "The sheriff's office is a few blocks away. You up for a walk?"

"I'm fine. Let's get going."

* * *

A young man in a pressed, tan uniform looked up from a desk when they walked in. His name tag read _Collins_. "May I help you?" 

Eames replied, "I talked with you earlier. We were involved in an accident on the interstate. We need to get our weapons from you and recover a few things from our car."

He glanced at a clipboard in front on him. "Uh, NYPD? Black Explorer?"

"That's us."

"You have ID?"

She pulled out her badge and handed it to him along with her MCS ID badge and driver's license. He studied them for a moment, handed them back and got to his feet. Walking to a gun locker set against the wall behind him, he opened a compartment, returning with their duty weapons and Bobby's back up piece, which he kept in the glovebox. He set them on the desk and handed Eames a piece of paper.

"Here you are. Just sign here and then I'll take you out to your vehicle."

She signed the form and handed Goren his weapons. Then they followed the deputy to a small impound lot behind the station. Their wrecked Explorer was one of four vehicles in the lot. As Eames went to the front seat and grabbed her partner's binder, Goren walked around the SUV, surveying the damage. He stopped at the back of the vehicle and, bracing his arm against his injured side, swung the door upward. It got hung up at about the level of his head and wouldn't stay open on its own. With a quiet groan he couldn't manage to suppress, he grabbed his bag and dropped it. Eames joined him in time to grab her own bag. Making certain she was clear of the door, he let it fall and stumbled back a few steps. A sheen of sweat coated his face and he took a moment to recover. Easily reading the concern in her eyes, he gave her a reassuring smile. "I'll take your bag," he offered once the pain in his side subsided. "Your arm is injured."

"And you have four fractured ribs. You don't need to be carrying both bags. Let's go."

He followed her back into the station, where she set his binder on a desk and watched him open it. He wrote the license plate number and make and model of the pickup on a piece of paper, handing it to the young officer. "That's the car that hit us."

Collins studied the paper with a nod. He pulled out two forms and handed one to each detective. "If you'll write your statements, I'll give them to Deputy Halston. He's the investigating officer. Make sure to leave your contact information, in case we have questions."

Eames started to tell him that they knew how it worked, but decided against it. Snapping at this young cop would serve no purpose. Their best bet was just to finish the paperwork and be on their way. Twenty minutes later, after talking to his supervisor, Deputy Collins was driving the two detectives to Reno, two hours away, so they could rent a vehicle and continue toward Rockport.

* * *

As they headed for Reno in the patrol car, Eames glanced into the back seat, studying her sleeping partner. He still looked pale, and every time he shifted or took a deep breath, he groaned softly. He'd become increasingly restless since leaving the hospital, anxious to get back on the road. She knew he could feel their suspect slipping away and his impatience escalated as time passed. But his injuries caught up with him once he could no longer freely move about and he'd given in to sleep after a struggle. She couldn't help wondering if he would be up for driving once they got another car. She turned back to look out the windshield at the highway. The accident had not been her fault, but she had been driving and she felt responsible. She sighed softly and tried to chase away the guilt. God, she was becoming more like her partner, with his overdeveloped sense of guilt and responsibility. 

"Is everything all right, Detective Eames?"

"Yes. I was just going over the accident in my head."

"You think you could have prevented it?"

"I don't know. It happened so fast."

"They always do. Don't worry. We'll track those kids down."

"Before they end up on a coroner's slab, I hope."

"Would you be saying that if they'd killed someone?"

"Yes. They need to bear the responsibilities of their actions."

"Good point." He was quiet for a moment. "Still...don't feel guilty. From what I could tell it wasn't your fault. The witnesses said the same thing. We found your skid marks...and only yours."

"He didn't brake at all. I'm not sure he even realized he'd hit us."

"Just wait until he finds out he hit a couple of cops. That'll make his day."

"Do you know who it was?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I recognized the description of the truck. The plate your partner got confirmed it. This isn't the first trouble he's been in. Six months ago we busted him for DUI...on his 21st birthday. He's been causing trouble here and there since he was about 12, and we've cited him for speeding and a few other violations but this is the first accident he's caused." He looked thoughtful. "I thought his license got suspended. Anyway, he's had some close calls, and we've gotten a number of reports of reckless driving in the last six months. Halston will head out to his place and see what he can turn up. The kid's following in his father's footsteps, unfortunately. His dad's a mean drunk, though, and the kid isn't. Just...stupid."

"What did you do about the reckless driving complaints?"

He smiled. "You're a cop. You know the answer to that."

She returned his smile with a nod. "There's not a lot you can do if you don't see it."

"Right. But we had a talk with him and his father. Not that it did much good." He glanced at her. "Can you tell me what brings a couple of detectives from New York out to Nevada?"

"Just passing through. We're tracking a suspect in two courthouse shootings."

"Somebody get pissed at their lawyer?"

She laughed. "Not quite. She got pissed at the system and took out the defendants in two child murder cases."

"You blame her for that?"

"Not really. But we have a job to do."

"Yeah. I get that. We may not always like what we've gotta do, but we still gotta do it."

She nodded in agreement. "Yes. We do."

The rest of the trip was passed with small talk. When they arrived at their destination, she roused Goren. To her relief, he woke easily. She was grateful he'd slept for several reasons. He looked better and he wasn't as pale, which was most important, but she knew him, and he would have barely been able to contain his restlessness, which would likely have made Collins nervous. As it was, he thanked the deputy and shifted impatiently while she said good-bye.

After sending Collins on his way back home, they rented an SUV with arrangements to return it in New York in a week's time.

As they walked from the office toward the Jeep Liberty, Eames turned the keys over in her hand. Goren leaned over to catch her eye. "Eames?"

"Are you sure about driving, Bobby?" 

"I am. It's my turn anyway."

She studied the keys as they stopped by the front bumper of the vehicle. "If you start having trouble..."

"I promise if I start seeing double, I'll let you know."

"And if gremlins start jumping out of the bushes?"

"I'll send them home to Ross."

With a laugh she set the keys in his hand and headed around to the passenger side. Ten minutes later, they were back on the highway, headed for Rockport. Eames refused to look at the speedometer; she didn't want to know. But one thing she couldn't resist was teasing him about his fast, aggressive driving. "You'd better be careful, Goren. If we overshoot Rockport, the next stop is Japan."

"Don't worry, Eames. I've been there before."

Smiling, she settled back in her seat, determined to keep an eye on him to make sure he really was as fine as he professed to be. She had heard Japan was a nice country to visit but she honestly had no real desire to _drive_ there. "Let's work on keeping this car on the road, shall we?"

His mouth relaxed into a half-smile. "You'll get no argument from me about that."

Now that they were back on the trail, he seemed at ease and she saw no sign that he was in any sort of trouble. They were closing in on Rockport and she hoped Goren was wrong about Larissa's intentions. He wasn't wrong often, but this time, she hoped he was.


	15. Calling Home

There was one final thing that needed to be done before Eames could put the accident behind her. Pulling out her phone, she stared at it for a long moment. Goren glanced at her. "Do you want me to tell him?"

"No, thanks. I was driving; I'll tell him."

"Before you call Ross, get an update from Logan. Ask him to find out how far it is from Reno to Rockport and see if he knows where she is."

"What's his cell number?"

"Just call the squad room."

"And if Ross picks up?"

He patted his pockets. "You have my phone?"

"Yes..." She pulled it out of her jacket pocket. "I also have your wallet, badge, keys and knife."

He hadn't given his personal items a second thought; he trusted completely that his partner would have gotten them for him. "Thanks, Eames. Logan's cell number is in my phone."

She called their squadmate and waited for him to answer. _Hey, buddy._

"I am not your buddy, Logan."

_All right, then...Hi, sweetheart._

"I'm not that either, you ass."

He laughed. _Where's Goren?_

"Driving. Anything recent on Adenauer?"

S_he was in Reno for a few hours. Uh, she got gas in... _She heard a rustle of papers. _She got gas in Sacramento about forty-five minutes ago._

"Can you find out how far it is from here to Sacramento and then to Rockport?"

_Hang on. Wheeler, let me use your computer for a minute. Okay, hold on...uh...where's here?_

"Reno."

_Okay...you hit any casinos?_

"Are you serious?"

_Oh, yeah...I forgot who you're with. Have you even stopped for food yet?_

"Barely."

_Okay...you're about 135 miles from Sacramento. Now what's that other town?_

"Rockport."

_Um...about another 200 miles after Sacramento. Everything going okay?_

"Not really."

_He being that much of a pain in the ass?_

"It's not him. He's fine. We...got hit, Mike."

_Hit? By another car?_

"No, by a plane. What do you think we got hit by?"

_You okay?_

"I guess so. Bobby got it worse than I did."

_Please tell me he wasn't driving._

"He wasn't."

_Then you're golden, sweetheart. Ross likes you. Now if it was me or him behind the wheel...watch out. You gonna call him?_

"I have no choice. Is he still there?"

_Yeah. I think he's keeping an eye on me. No rest for the weary, you know._

"Don't you go anywhere, Logan. I need you to tell me what Ross' real reaction is."

Logan groaned. _All right...just for you. Say hi to Bobby for me and call me when you catch her. I don't care what time it is. _

"You got it. Bye." She looked at Goren. "He wants us to call him when we get her."

"We can do that. How far is Rockport?"

"It's about 135 miles to Sacramento; she got gas there about 45 minutes ago. Then another 200 miles to Rockport."

"That puts us..." He did some figuring in his head. "About two hours behind her." He glanced at her. "Are you going to call Ross now?"

"I guess I have to. Is the Explorer totaled?"

"Pretty much. That guardrail didn't do it any good."

"I never do anything half-assed, do I?"

"Never. Are you _sure _you don't want me to talk to him?"

"I'm sure, but thank you for offering."

He shifted his position and groaned softly. "He already has a problem with me, Eames. But he likes you. I don't mind being his target."

"You get targeted enough. I can take the heat."

He smiled softly. "You'll be fine. It wasn't your fault, and that will be Ross' first...uh, second assumption."

"Oh, and what will his first assumption be?"

"That I was driving."

She laughed. He had a way of placing things into a perspective that always made her feel better. She flipped open his phone again and called the squad room.

She was on hold for all of twenty seconds when Ross picked up the line. _Where the hell are you, Eames?_

"Just west of Reno."

_You haven't caught up to her yet?_

"No, we haven't. We...we got delayed."

_By what?_

She took a deep breath. Goren glanced at her, then reached over and gave her arm a comforting squeeze. She smiled at him. "We were in an accident, captain."

Silence. Then, _Goren was driving, wasn't he?_

"No, he wasn't. I was."

Beside her, Goren laughed softly. "Told you," he said quietly.

She gave his arm a playful smack as Ross asked, _What happened?_

"We were cut off by a drunk driver. The locals know who he was; Bobby managed to get the plates."

_Are you all right?_

"We are, but I'm afraid the Explorer was totaled. We smashed through a guard rail."

_**Through** a guard rail? How fast were you going?_

"The speed limit. I'm sure the locals will forward the accident report to you in the next day or so."

Ross let out a heavy sigh. _As long as no one got hurt..._

"I didn't say that, captain. I said we were okay."

Another hesitation. _Neither of you were hurt badly, were you?_

"Not terribly. Some bruises and lacerations...I sprained my wrist and Bobby broke a few ribs and got a concussion."

_Who's driving now?_

"Bobby is."

_Are you serious?_

"He's all right."

_Keep a close eye on him. Neither of you need to get into another accident._

"I trust him, captain," she snapped. Her partner's hand on her arm stayed any further comment.

Ross was quiet for another moment. _All right, Eames. I trust __**you**__. How close are you to catching up with her?_

"We're about 2 hours behind her, but we expect to close the gap." With Goren driving, she was certain they would. "I'll let you know."

_Be careful, and tell him I said that._

"I will. We'll be in touch."

She closed the phone and looked at him. "He said for you to be careful." She sighed. "He took that better than I thought he would, at least over the phone. Logan will let us know how he really reacts."

"It'll be all right; don't worry." He looked at the dashboard. "We'll make it to Sacramento before we need gas, and we can get something to eat then. Is that all right with you?"

She nodded. "It's fine. Are you sure you're doing all right?"

"Yes. No gremlins yet."

She laughed and settled back into the passenger seat, feeling more at ease. Just a few more hours and the chase would be over. They would have Larissa Adenauer in custody and be on their way back to New York.


	16. The Bluff Overlooking the Sea

Goren studied the map he'd spread out on the hood of the Jeep as the numbers on the gas pump display rose. Eames returned with coffee, setting his on the hood near the map. She studied his face, smiling at the way he could so intensely concentrate on even the most mundane things. She touched his hand and he raised his eyes to her. It took him a moment to find his voice. "Um, if we take Route 20, here, across to the Pacific Highway...we may cut out some time...and..." He trailed off, uncertain how to say what he intended without having it come out wrong. She waited patiently. With a sigh, he went on, "I...know how I get, Eames. Y-you put up with me better than any partner...well, better than anybody. I've been up the Pacific Highway...you-you'll love the scenery, the ocean...it's a...nicer route..."

She smiled at him as the gas nozzle clicked off. "Thank you, Bobby."

He shrugged off her gratitude, not intending to offend but to indicate that it was unnecessary for her to thank him as he finished up at the pump. They got back into the Jeep and continued on their way.

* * *

He had not been exaggerating about the stunning views from the highway over the ocean. She found herself looking out over the ocean more than watching the road, and she forgot all about the speedometer. So far, since leaving New York, Goren had talked his way out of six tickets and charmed his way out of one on a dare from her. The last thing on his mind, she knew, was driving the speed limit. She wondered if it ever even occurred to him to drive the speed limit. 

The sunset was stunning and as darkness encroached upon them, she noticed their speed decreased significantly. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Why?"

"I can see more than just a blur on the roadside as we pass by."

A smile touched his lips but he didn't taken his eyes from the road. "We need to start watching for her motorcycle."

"Are we near Rockport?"

"We just passed Fort Bragg...It's about 30 more miles to Rockport."

"And since we don't know exactly where she's heading, we should start looking now."

"Right."

"Suppose we miss her. Then what?"

He considered the ramifications of her question before softly answering, "That's not an option, Eames."

Unwilling to upset him, she let the matter drop and they continued up the coastline, searching for a parked motorcycle as twilight faded around them.

* * *

Eames was caught entirely off guard when Goren suddenly slammed on the brakes and made a hard left into a small gravel clearing. At the far end of the clearing, nearly obscured by bushes, was a motorcycle. He parked the car and they got out, scanning the area in the light of the still-rising full moon. A quick examination of the motorcycle confirmed that it belonged to Larissa Adenauer. Goren spotted the narrow path in the undergrowth and motioned to Eames. As they met at the path's entry point into the trees, she drew her gun. His eyes shifted from the weapon to her face, hesitating a moment before he turned and headed down the path. He did not draw his own weapon. 

They emerged from the trees into a clearing that ended on a bluff overlooking the moonlit ocean. Sitting on the edge of the bluff, looking out to sea, was their vigilante. Goren stepped forward, moving silently until he was in the center of the clearing. When he spoke, his gentle voice was calm. "Larissa."

She started, turning and scrambling to her feet. "D-Detective Goren? What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

Eames replied, "We're detectives. It's what we do."

Adenauer's eyes shifted to her and the look on her face hardened. "Your partner, I presume."

"Yes." His tone remained non-confrontational and calm, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the roar of the surf below the bluff. "I told you...I understand, but I can't let you get away with what you did."

"Get away with it? I never asked you for that. I wanted..." She trailed off. It didn't matter.

"You wanted my approval. I still can't give that to you."

"So you followed me three thousand miles from New York...to arrest me and bring me home?"

"Yes."

"I'm so sorry you've wasted your time, detective."

His head cocked to the side, a gesture of curiosity that Eames knew was false. He understood exactly what Adenauer intended to do. "I don't think we wasted our time. We found you."

"Only just."

"Were you getting ready to leave?"

"Actually, I was."

He moved closer, and she stepped away, within a few feet of where the bluff met sky. His tone was sympathetic, his voice gentle. "He proposed to you here."

A look of surprise crossed her face before she put an effort into studying him. "How do you know that?"

He shrugged lightly. "I'm thorough."

"We brought Chelsea out here when she was three." Her face softened as she remembered the happy little girl who frolicked around this bluff four years ago. "She loved the ocean."

"You have good memories."

"Yes, I do. That's why I came here, to focus on those memories. They are all I have left."

"Come back to New York with us, Larissa."

"For what? So I can spend the rest of my life in an eight by ten room with bars in the windows, unable to come and go as I please?" She raised her hand before he could reply. "Don't waste your breath, Detective Goren. The world at large is safe from the madness of my vengeance."

"Very poetic," Eames snapped, impatient and irritated. Her partner was already sympathetic toward this woman. She was not going to let her get to him any further. "But it's time to go, Mrs. Adenauer."

Larissa ignored her, choosing to keep her focus on Goren. "You need not worry about your precious justice," she said without malice. "I fully plan to spend the rest of my life right here."

Eames sensed rather than saw a sudden tension rise in her partner. He moved a few steps closer to Adenauer. "Larissa," he said, a note of entreaty in his tone. "Just come back with us. I understand your frustration..."

"I know you do. But you are not a jury of my peers, and I will be perfectly honest with you. I have made my peace with this...a long time ago. Just let it go...let _me_ go..."

"I-I can't do that," he answered.

"I'm sorry, then. You don't have a choice. I have lost everything that made living worthwhile for me. So I came here, to say good-bye. Life...living...has been punishment enough for me over the last year."

Eames took a deliberate step forward, but Goren held out his hand and she stopped. He moved closer to Adenauer. He was almost close enough to touch her, and she suddenly seemed to realize this. She stepped away from him, now right on the edge of the bluff.

"Don't..." he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. He was unable to keep a tone of pleading entirely from his voice.

She met his eyes, and for a moment, she seemed to consider his offer of life over what she had chosen as her fate. She reached into her pocket and he heard the round chamber into Eames' gun. Knowing full well how royally pissed she was going to be but unwilling to let her bear the guilt of shooting an unarmed suspect, he stepped half a step to the right, eliminating a clear shot at Adenauer. He heard her gasp and he had a feeling he was going to be making this up to her for the next three thousand miles...or more. Unaware of what had just transpired between the partners, Larissa pulled an envelope from her pocket. In one swift, unexpected movement, she stepped forward, placed the envelope in his hand and met his eyes. "Good-bye, Robert," she whispered.

Before he had a chance to react, she turned and stepped off the bluff into space.


	17. Fallout

Goren's eyes slid closed and he dropped his chin to his chest. For a moment there, he thought he'd succeeded in talking her down. She'd surprised him by stepping up to him like she had and he'd had no time to react when she turned and stepped off the bluff. He should have grabbed her when he had the chance! He heard Eames move past him to look over the edge of the bluff into the black water below, knowing there would be nothing to see even with the light of the full moon illuminating the night. He looked at her. She was pale, but color quickly returned to her face as she rounded on him, furious.

"You stepped in front of my gun! You've done some stupid things, Goren, but that one takes the cake. I could have shot you!"

He was slowly shaking his head as he stuffed the envelope into his pocket. "You wouldn't have."

"I had my finger on the fucking trigger, you idiot! And she could have been going for a gun! You had no idea what she was doing!"

There was no spark in his eyes as he answered, "She wasn't, Eames. I knew she wasn't. I...I didn't want you shooting an unarmed suspect."

She was too angry to take note of the defeated tone in his voice. "So you can read minds now? How the hell could you have known she wasn't going for a gun?"

"I..." He hung his head for a moment. "I just did. Let's get out of here..."

He walked past her and headed for the path to the parking area. As she watched him walk away, calm returned and her anger dissipated. Oh, God...what just happened...what had she done...

Their suspect just walked off a cliff, killed herself right in front of them, and she chewed him out for, well, for being Bobby. The cop in her always reacted as if every suspect were armed. The cop in him always reacted with words to defuse a situation...unless circumstances warranted the use of his weapon. This one had not, but his words had not been enough, either. _Oh, Bobby..._

She pulled out her phone and placed a call to the local police, to report Adenauer's fall. She made no mention of the fact that it had been intentional. Then she hurried after her partner. When she got to the Jeep, she found the driver's side door open and the keys in the ignition. He was leaning against the front of the vehicle, hands stuffed in his pockets, staring at the ground while he waited for her. She walked around to stand beside him, leaning back and placing her hands against the hood. "I'm sorry," she said.

He didn't react for a moment. Finally, he muttered, "For what?"

"For yelling at you like that."

He shrugged. "I deserved it."

"No...no, you didn't. Not entirely." She didn't elaborate. "I called the locals and reported the fall. They'll be here shortly."

"Fall, Eames?"

"In the grand scheme of things, does it matter if she fell accidentally or if she jumped? Either way, she fell off that bluff."

He shrugged noncommittally. "I guess not."

She hesitated for a moment, then returned the topic to the incident that had triggered her anger. She had been less angry than frightened; she could have shot him and that scared her. "Bobby, why did you do it? What made you step in front of my gun?"

His answer was slow in coming, and she wasn't sure why. "I...I knew she wasn't armed. She had no intention of hurting anyone else. No, I can't read minds, but I can read intentions. I...I just _knew_. She was on the edge, Eames, and I tried to talk her back from that edge." He drew in a deep breath and let it out miserably. "I-I couldn't do it. I have to live with that. But you don't need to live with the guilt of shooting someone who was unarmed. That's why I did it."

"And if I'd fired?"

"You wouldn't have. Not without a clear line of fire. You're more careful than that. I knew that if I was anywhere near your line of fire, you wouldn't pull the trigger."

His level of trust in her struck her at a very deep level. Bobby didn't trust people, not like he trusted her. He was right--she would not have fired without a clear shot--but she still didn't like what he had done. "We'll talk about it later."

She shifted her weight and leaned forward to see his face. His eyes flicked toward her and then away. She didn't like that. "Bobby..."

Before she could continue, two patrol cars pulled into the gravel lot. One deputy stepped out of each car and approached them as Eames heaved a sigh of frustration and walked around from the front of the Jeep to greet them. The older of the two deputies spoke. "Did one of you call in an accident on the bluff?"

Eames nodded. "Yes. I did. Detective Alex Eames, NYPD. That's my partner, Detective Goren. The victim was a suspect we pursued from New York. We were arresting her when she fell from the bluff."

"An escape attempt?"

"Yes," Goren replied, stepping around to join them as the question was asked. He leaned against the back of the Jeep, near Eames. "She was escaping."

He was telling the truth. Larissa Adenauer was escaping from life. The deputy studied him closely. "Is something wrong, detective?"

Now Eames answered. "He tried to keep her from falling."

That was all that needed to be said. Eames pulled out a card and handed it to him. "You can call us if you have any questions. My cell number is on the card."

He nodded. "We'll be in touch."

She touched her partner's shoulder. He pushed off the car and walked to the passenger door. She watched him climb into the car and then walked around to slide behind the wheel.

As she pulled out of the gravel lot and headed down the road, she cast a concerned glance in his direction. "Bobby..." she began.

He raised a hand. "Please, Eames. Not now. I promised you a shower and a bed; let's go find you one." He shifted his eyes toward her, but even with the full moon it was difficult to see anything more than shadows. Softly, he said, "Don't worry about me."

She knew him well enough to read the unspoken remainder of his sentence, and it was that unspoken dismissal that she addressed. "Yes, it is," she said.

His brow creased in confusion. "What is?"

"It _is_ worth worrying about because _you _are worth worrying about."

He looked in her direction for a long moment, then he turned toward the window and said nothing more. She headed down the road in silence, leaving him to his thoughts as she dwelled on hers. Larissa Adenauer's envelope sat forgotten in his pocket.

* * *

It didn't take much searching to find a stretch of motels, restaurants and shops not far from the bluff. He remained in the car while she went into the motel office. Returning, she drove around to the back of the building and parked. They got out of the car, grabbed their bags from the back and she handed him a key. "Room 225. I'm right next door in 223." 

He nodded. "Thanks."

Once they got to the doors of their rooms, she said, "I'm going to order a pizza. Want to join me for a bite?"

"No thanks, Eames. I'm just going to go to bed."

He unlocked the door to his room and pushed it open. She watched him closely. "Bobby?"

He stopped and looked her way, but he said nothing. "Are you okay?"

He studied her for a moment, but he didn't answer her question. He wasn't certain of the answer himself. "Good night, Eames."

He went into his room and closed the door. She waited for a moment before she went into her own room.

* * *

After a few slices of mediocre pizza and a hot shower, Eames was more than ready for bed. The phone rang just before she drifted off. Hoping it was her partner but knowing it wasn't, she answered it without looking at the caller ID, but she was still disappointed when it turned out to be the local police, informing her that they had not turned up a body from the ocean below the cliff. She was not surprised. After thanking the officer who called her, she hung up and stared at the phone for a few minutes, wanting to call Goren, but deciding against it. Setting her phone on the nightstand, she drew the blanket up and eventually drifted off to sleep. 

She woke a few hours later, jarred from sleep by a nightmare triggered by the day's events and concern for her partner's state of mind. Leaving the comfort of her bed, she dressed and left the room. Goren did not answer his door, and she wasn't sure what to make of that. He was not a sound sleeper. Heading to the desk, it took little effort for her to convince the clerk to give her a key to his room. When she returned to the room and found him gone, she sat down on the bed and softly sighed. She knew where he had gone. Slowly, she got to her feet and walked down to the Jeep, sliding behind the wheel and heading back down the highway to find her unsettled partner.

Returning to the gravel lot they'd left a few hours earlier, she made her way to the bluff in the light of the full moon, stopping at the edge of the clearing to watch him.

Silhouetted against the moonlit sky, he was sitting on the edge of the bluff, one leg dangling over the edge, the other bent with his foot flat on the ground, his arm draped over his knee. A bottle dangled from the fingers of one hand, an unfolded paper rested in the other. She sighed softly, stepping forward. Saying nothing as she approached, she sensed he knew she was there. Silently, she sat beside him, letting her legs dangle over the edge. The restless waves crashed against the rocks far below, and she was reminded of Goren...of his restless energy and the force with which his psyche crashed when life became overwhelming for him or something went terribly wrong, like it did that night. But the waves always recovered and the sea never tired, and that also was very much like Goren.

She reached out and touched the bottle. He released it, allowing her to draw it away and set it to the side. It was nearly empty and she had no doubt that it had been full when he started. She said nothing. Swallowing her concern and her impatience, she simply sat beside him and waited. In silence, he folded the paper in half and handed it to her. She held onto it, not reading it just yet. She was more worried for him than she was curious about Larissa Adenauer.

After a long moment, his quiet voice, awash with misery, reached her ears. "I failed."

Debating the truth in his words would be utterly fruitless, she knew, because he believed it was true and no amount of cajoling would convince him otherwise. She also had no doubt that he was too drunk to reason with. But she had to say something. "Failed who, Bobby? Larissa?"

Another long, heavy pause. "Partly."

"She came all this way with exactly that in mind. She'd been planning it for a year. If you had prevented her from doing it, _then_ you would have let her down." She was quiet for a moment to let him digest her words. She continued, "Her other option was suicide by cop, and I have no doubt that would have been her choice if she'd been caught near the courthouse, or anywhere along the way. Or by anyone other than you."

He turned his head slowly and studied her as the moon ducked behind a cloud, but he did not need any light to see her in his mind. After nearly seven years of spending almost every day with her, he knew every curve and line in her face, and he knew what he would see in that face. Not pity, not disgust, not anger...not even sympathy. He would see concern, understanding, maybe a little empathy...and an affection born of familiarity. He shook his head to clear his mind, to chase away unwanted images that randomly assaulted him. When her hand settled over his, he looked at it, focusing on the contrast of her small hand against his large one, her lighter skin tone, narrow fingers, manicured nails. With his eyes, he slowly followed the curve of her arm to her shoulder, hidden by her light jacket. His mind drew forth the image of it from memory and he made no effort to chase it away. It was by far the most pleasant image his mind had drawn forth that night. His eyes continued on, following the curve of her shoulder to the pale skin of her throat...the sharp angle of her chin...finally settling on her eyes, now visible in the bright light of the full moon. Empathy and concern, warm affection...everything he was not used to seeing in human eyes. After a moment, he returned his gaze to the ocean, fully convinced he had never done anything to deserve having this woman as his partner. He could not even justify having her in his life.

When her hand came to rest on the back of his head, he closed his eyes. "Come on, Bobby," she said softly. "Let's go back to the motel. You need to sleep."

She wasn't wrong about that. If she had not come after him, he would probably fallen asleep there, on the edge of the bluff. Of course, when he woke in the morning, disoriented and hungover, it could have spelled disaster for him...but there was that trust again. He knew Eames would have come looking for him before that ever happened.

He got to his feet, stumbling backward away from the bluff. Her hands steadied him. Offering no protest, he let her lead him to the parked Jeep. Back at the motel, he paid no attention as she guided him from the parking lot to the rooms they had rented for the night. He was most grateful for her silence. The last thing he felt like was conversation.

He had some trouble negotiating the stairs, and Eames found herself wishing the place had an elevator, but at least it was clean and well-kept. She stopped him and unlocked the door, steering him toward one of the two full-sized beds in the room. It was only because she'd done this before that she was able to get his jacket off before he collapsed onto the bed. By the time she got his shoes off and covered him with the blanket, he was out.

She watched him for a long time, until she was certain he was breathing regularly and that he wouldn't vomit in his sleep. There was no doubt in her mind that he wouldn't be waking anytime soon. She sighed and picked up the phone, pressing the '0' for the front desk. "This is Alex Eames, in room 223. Can I leave a wake up call? Nine o'clock. Thanks."

Setting the phone in its cradle, she changed back into her sleep pants and sleeveless shirt. With a gentle touch, she smoothed back the damp hair that curled along his forehead. "You're a lot of work, Goren," she muttered affectionately. "You're lucky you're worth it."

Placing an affectionate kiss on his forehead, she pulled the folded paper from the pocket she'd stuffed it into and crawled into the other bed with it. Unfolding it, she read the careful script.

_Anyone who knew me will know that Harry and Chelsea were my life. Without them, life is empty and simply not worth living. I leave this behind for anyone who chooses to give my passing a second thought. Your numbers are few; take comfort from these words._

_Larissa Adenauer _

_Do not stand at my grave and weep  
I am not there; I do not sleep.  
I am a thousand winds that blow,  
I am the diamond glint on snow,  
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,  
I am the gentle autumn rain.  
When you awaken in the morning's hush  
I am the swift uplifting rush  
Of quiet birds in circled flight.  
I am the soft starlight at night.  
Do not stand at my grave and cry,  
I am not there; I did not die._

Eames looked from the familiar words on the paper before her to her sleeping partner and softly cursed Larissa Adenauer. This self-same poem had been inscribed in golden letters on cardstock gracing his mother's coffin. She was not certain where it had gone after the funeral, but she imagined it was somewhere in his apartment. She sighed. It had never been difficult to cause him pain. Folding the paper, she set it on the nightstand between the beds, knowing he would pass it on to the friends and family who would care to read it. Then she snuggled under the covers and watched the easy rise and fall of Goren's chest as she drifted off into an easy sleep, knowing he was right there, and he was safe.

* * *

**A/N: The authorship of _Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep_ is uncertain, but it is widely attributed to housewife Mary Frye. **


	18. Letting Go

The insistent ringing of a telephone interrupted an unwelcome dream. Disoriented and sore, Eames rolled over to grab the receiver. "This is your wake-up call, Ms Eames."

"Oh, thanks."

Laying in the bed, staring at the ceiling, she recalled the events of the day before as her mind returned to full awareness. When she moved, every muscle in her abused body protested. After several hours of sleep, her entire body had stiffened up. Reluctantly getting out of her warm bed, she limped into the bathroom. She turned the shower on hot and undressed, stepping into the steaming spray with a sigh. She took a long shower and enjoyed every moment of it. She felt a lot better when she stepped from the tub. After toweling off, she wrapped herself in another towel, berating herself for forgetting to bring clothes in there with her. She'd forgotten about the man sleeping on the other bed in the room.

Stepping quietly from the steaming bathroom, she set her bag on the bed and pulled out the clothes she needed. Looking over at the other bed, she was relieved to find him still sound asleep. She really hadn't expected him to be awake, and she wondered if he would be ready to get up when it was time to leave. Glancing over at the near-empty scotch bottle on the table near the door, she recalled the last time she'd been as drunk and she answered her own question with a definite no. Returning to the bathroom, she closed the door and took her time dressing. Folding her sleep clothes and placing them in the proper compartment of her bag, she gathered the clothes she'd discarded a few hours ago and stuffed them carefully into the laundry bag she always brought with her on trips away from home. Then she sat on the bed and studied her sleeping partner.

With a heavy heart, she realized that it had not been solely the skill of the profiler within him that had allowed him to slip into the mind of Larissa Adenauer. Just as much, it had been recent experience, the shared grief of losing a loved one who had been the focus of his life. He understood only too well the despair of grief. What separated him from Larissa, however, was the heart of a lion that beat in his chest. His heart was tender, easily bruised, but it radiated a courage that never wavered. Larissa had followed the coward's path and, in doing so, had caused a burden of guilt and grief to settle on strong shoulders that until recently had carried a too-heavy load. One thing his childhood had fostered within him was his tendency to feel the pain of others acutely, and he certainly had felt Larissa's pain.

His mother's death had left him reeling, and it had taken her long hours over the course of many weeks to begin returning stability to his life. He was finally beginning to realize that he was not alone in the world. Granted, he often walked a path she could never follow, but she was always waiting with steadfast fidelity when he chose to return. After his mother died, she'd come to realize that the path of his life was a steep and rocky one, but when he had returned from this most recent journey away from her, he was a different man. The dark, brooding unpredictability was gone. Every morning, she was greeted with a warm smile of genuine gratitude and eyes that told her how much he appreciated her for sticking with him. Also gone were the dark circles under his eyes, a physical manifestation of the stress he'd felt dealing with the final months of his mother's life. In their place came a more ready smile that once again touched his eyes. He stood a little taller now, shed of the burden of his mother's illness. And now he noticed things that had slipped past him before, including her.

Getting to her feet, she shook herself from her reverie and picked up her phone. Leaving the door open, she stepped out of the room and called Logan. _It's about time you called,_ he said by way of answering the phone.

"Good morning to you, too," she replied.

_Did you catch up to her?_

"Yes."

_Good job. Ross has decided to let the Two-Seven have this one. I'll call Jack McCoy..._

"Don't bother with that, Mike. We don't have her in custody."

_But I thought you said..._

"I did."

_Don't tell me she got away from you._

"Actually, she did."

_Man...Ross is gonna have a cow. A whole friggin' herd of 'em..._

"Mike, she's dead. She committed suicide last night by jumping off a cliff into the ocean."

She listened to the stunned silence on the line. Finally, he said, _You're not joking, are you?_

"No."

More silence. _Where's your partner?_

"Sleeping."

_Okay, then **how** is your partner?_

"Do you have to ask, Mike?"

She wasn't used to extended periods of silence from Logan. If the situation were not so serious, she might take pleasure in rendering him speechless. _So what do you want me to tell the boss when I go in? _

"I probably ought to call him..."

_Probably, but you have your hands full right now. I'll deal with Ross for you. Uh, how are you feeling since the accident?_

"Very sore."

_And Bobby?_

"He's not feeling anything right now."

Logan was quiet again. _Beer?_

"Scotch."

He sighed. _Call me later. I'd like to talk to him._

"All right, Mike. But I'm not sure when he'll be in any shape to talk."

_Whenever he's up to it. And don't worry about Ross...at least not right away.  
_

"Thanks. I'll talk to you later."

She closed the phone and went back into the room. She looked around and found the prescription they'd given him. Leaving him sleeping, she left and got it filled. She had a feeling he would be needing it. Returning to the motel room, she was not looking forward to trying to wake him. She packed her stuff into the Jeep, carefully retrieved his key from his pocket and moved his bag from his room into hers. Then she sat beside him on the bed. Gently she brushed his hair back from his forehead. He didn't stir. She shook his shoulder and called his name. It took a few times, but finally he groaned. His eyes flickered open and he struggled to focus on her. "Eames...?"

He started to move and groaned again, falling back into the pillow and bracing an arm against his side. He struggled to take a breath without igniting a fire across his chest, but it wasn't working. His head was throbbing and his stomach was uncertain. She smoothed her hand across his forehead and his breathing eased a little, until he moved. With gentle coaxing, she got him to sit up and she helped him off with his shirt. She managed to hide her alarm at seeing the red that had seeped through his bandages. "Uh, what did they tell you about this wound in your side?"

"Keep the bandages clean and dry for a couple of days. Then I can shower and change them."

She nodded. "Okay, then, why don't you get washed up and we can get some breakfast?" At the look on his face, she said, "Not hungry?"

"I hurt like hell and I feel like shit, and it's only going to get worse because I'm still half-trashed. Food is the last thing on my mind right now." He stood up with a groan and headed unsteadily to the bathroom. He stopped in the doorway and looked at her, his face reflecting the pain he felt in his body. "Uh, I didn't mean we can't stop to eat if you're hungry. You shouldn't have to go without eating because I'm not able to."

He went into the bathroom and closed the door. She sat on the bed and sighed softly, waiting patiently for him as she ignored her grumbling stomach. After a few minutes, she called to him. "Are you okay in there, Bobby?"

While she waited for an answer, the door opened and he came back into the room, his gait still uncertain. "No, Eames. I'm not okay," he replied irritably.

Annoyed, she got up, grabbed the mostly empty bottle from the table by the door and thrust it at him. "Here—finish that. It's all the pain control you'll get until you sober up."

Without a word, he took the bottle, emptied it and dropped it into a trash can. Then he turned to the sink and washed his face, using his hands to run cool water over his hair. After drying off, he opened his overnight bag and yanked out a flannel shirt, which he pulled on a little too roughly. Pain flared in a white hot band around his chest, causing him to double over and drop to his knees. Forgetting her annoyance, Eames hurried to his side, dropping down beside him. She gently rubbed his back as he struggled to bring the pain under control so he could breathe. She murmured softly into his ear as her hand continued rubbing gentle circles on his back, and he slowly relaxed. Another soft groan escaped from his throat and he closed his eyes against the spinning room and the nausea that accompanied it. Finally, he turned his head toward her and opened his eyes. He saw nothing but concern in her face. "I'm sorry," he said softly, voice tight with pain and remorse.

"For what?"

"For being an ass. I...I just feel like hell. And I dragged you three thousand miles from home for nothing. I..." He looked away and dropped his head miserably. "I really screwed up."

Impulsively she kissed his temple. "Forget it. Let's just get going, okay?"

He nodded. "We'll get you something to eat first."

Once he was up, she helped him with his shirt and grabbed his bag, refusing to let him take it. After leaving the room, she guided him carefully down the stairs to the Jeep. Driving around to the office, she turned in both keys and they were on their way.

By the time she found a cluster of restaurants and fast food places, he was sleeping, so she contented herself with a burger and fries from the drive thru of a burger joint and continued on the way. She drove east as the day wore on and, to her relief, he continued sleeping. He didn't stir when she stopped for gas or for food, and she left him alone. With the mood he'd been in, she decided it best to just let him sleep it off. And so she drove on...

* * *

It was ten o'clock that night when she pulled into a motel parking space and went into the office to get a room. When she returned to the car, he was awake and miserable. "Uh, where are we?" 

"We just crossed the border into Wyoming." She looked at the card in her hand. "Evanston."

With a grunt, he got out of the car and she locked it up. Opening the back door, she grabbed their bags one at a time and set them on the ground, annoyed with the brace on her arm. He appeared at her side and grabbed both bags. She started to protest but thought better of it. "We're in room 104."

He hesitated. "The same room?"

"Yes. I want to keep an eye on you and it's easier if we're in the same room."

"But..." he trailed off, not certain how to voice his objection.

"Afraid you can't control yourself?"

"No."

"We stayed in the same room last night with no problem."

He looked confused. "We had separate rooms last night."

"After I found you back on the bluff, I brought you back to my room. That's where you slept. I take it you don't remember."

"Uh, no."

"That's just as well."

He followed her in silence to the room. "Uh, I was a jerk, wasn't I?"

"Forget it, Bobby."

She opened the door and went into the room. He set the bags inside the door and closed it, securing the locks. "I'm sorry."

"I said forget it."

That was the problem. He couldn't forget something he didn't remember. All he had to show for the night before was a lingering guilt for not stopping Larissa's leap from the bluff, a sore body with a band of fire around his chest and one hell of a hangover. That and an annoyed partner who deserved better from him.

"Eames..."

"Look, Bobby, it's been a long day. I drove almost a thousand miles and I had to deal with Ross. He's livid and we're both in hot water. I'm going to take a hot bath and I don't want to be bothered." She grabbed her bag from the floor next to him and headed to the bathroom, stopping in the doorway. "I mean it. Unless the building is on fire, don't bother me."

She shut the door with a little more force than she'd intended. A midafternoon call from Logan warning her that Ross was on the warpath came just before the captain's call. As she watched the water fill the tub, she recalled the unpleasantness of that conversation. First, he'd asked for an accounting of what had happened, which she gave him. Then, he'd tried to get her to thrust the blame for the entire incident onto her partner's shoulders, which she steadfastly refused to do. She shared in the success of Goren's brilliance; she was not about to leave him alone to bear the burden of his failure. Regardless of the outcome, every case they drew was a shared effort. Succeed or fail they owned the outcome together as well. She refused to toss him to the wolves, no matter how annoyed with him she got. She'd started down that road once, and she still regretted it. She was never going there again; he deserved better than that from her.

She settled into the hot water and leaned back with a sigh as the heat drew the soreness from her muscles. What a week it had been. Even in her memory a lot of it was a blur up until their confrontation with Adenauer on the bluff. Then her mind switched to slow motion and she recalled every detail. What stood out most clearly, though, was the expression on Goren's face after the suspect had jumped, a split second before she'd laid into him for stepping in front of her gun. He'd known when they started out what Adenauer had intended to do, yet he'd been caught off-guard when she actually did it. It was not an easy thing for a perp to do, catching Goren by surprise. He had to have thought he'd talked her out of it. She thought he had. And with every fiber of her being, she cursed Larissa Adenauer for causing her partner pain.

She remained in the bath until the water cooled off. Then she got out, toweled off and dressed in her sleep pants and tank top. A cloud of moist, hot air escaped through the doorway with her as she left the bathroom. For some reason, it had not occurred to her that her partner would leave while she was in the bath. Where the hell would he go in Evanston, Wyoming? But he had gone out and now he was back, laying on the bed closest to the door, an arm folded across his eyes. Sitting on her bed were two styrofoam containers, a large one and a small one. On the bedside table was a bar glass containing a multicolored drink that she recognized: a tequila sunrise. "Bobby?"

Raising his arm slowly, he looked at her, eyes clouded with pain both physical and emotional. "I, uh, I thought you might be hungry. The restaurant downstairs was closed, but I talked the cook into making something quick and easy for you."

His voice was soft and carried a note of apology with it. She walked around to sit on the bed, drawing the large container onto her lap. Opening it, she found a Denver omelet with hash browns and toast. Inside the smaller one she found a pair of crepes stuffed with strawberry filling and topped with whipped cream. She looked back at him. He'd laid his arm back across his eyes and was no longer watching her. "Bobby?" she repeated.

Just as slowly, he looked at her again. She smiled at him. "Thank you."

"It was the least I could do. I really am very sorry, Eames. Ross has no business taking this out on you."

"Why not? What kind of partner would I be if I shared equally in our successes but let you bear the brunt of our failures?"

"Not our failures. Mine."

"No, Bobby. Ours."

He started to push himself up onto his elbows, only to be driven back by the band of pain that constricted his chest. Once it subsided, he muttered, "You weren't close enough to grab her. I was and I didn't."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. I thought you'd gotten through to her, too."

"But I know better than to make assumptions like that. I should have grabbed her."

"And then she might have taken you with her. No, I'm glad you didn't grab her."

"You think I couldn't have held her?"

"You forget about the accident and the minor detail of four broken ribs?"

The look on his face told her she was right. As was his habit, he changed the subject. "Eat your food, Eames, before it gets cold."

He covered his eyes again and withdrew from her, only this time she didn't let him go. Closing the box and setting it aside, she moved from her bed to sit on the edge of his. Gently, she laid her hand on his abdomen. She felt the tremor that coursed through his body, saw the tight set of his mouth, heard the uneven breath he drew. "Stop beating yourself up over it," she said gently. "Don't own her pain. You have more than enough of your own."

"She's dead, and I let her die," he muttered miserably.

"She's dead and it was her choice to die. That's not your fault in anyone's eyes but your own." She gently fingered the buttons of his shirt. "Let it go."

"I wish I could."

There it was in a nutshell: his inability to let go of his guilt. Time to try a different approach. "If it's anyone's fault, it's mine."

His arm moved much faster this time. "How do you figure that?"

"If I hadn't gotten us into that accident we would have caught up to her in Sacramento or sooner."

"That accident wasn't your fault," he protested.

"And her suicide is not yours."

He stared at her for a long moment. Finally, a warm smile replaced the weariness on his face. "Touche, Eames," he said softly.

"You always ask me to forgive you. This time I want you to forgive yourself. Can you do that? For me?" When he didn't answer, she went on. "She suffered a devastating blow when she lost her family and over the course of a year, convinced herself that joining them was all she had left. You tried to talk her out of it, but your effort was doomed from the start and you know it. Don't delude yourself into thinking you have any control over the actions of others. You can be very persuasive, but ultimately, this is all on her. It was her decision and hers alone."

As close as she was, she still barely heard his reply. "I know."

Resting a hand on his cheek, she said, "Then let it go, Bobby. There was nothing you could have done. You tried, and that was enough." She looked around. "Aren't you going to eat?"

"No, thanks. I still don't have the stomach for it."

"Do you want your prescription? It should be all right to take it now."

"No, thanks. I'm all right...if I don't move...or laugh...or cough..."

She smiled and returned to her bed to eat. He slid his arm back over his eyes. When she was done eating, she brought him a glass of water and a pill. He just looked at her, not making any move to take the medicine. When the expression on her face changed from an offer to a plea, he conceded. He sat up slowly, bracing his injured ribs with his arm. The room wasn't spinning nearly as much so his stomach remained settled.

After taking the medicine, he finished the water and Eames convinced him to let her help him off with his shirt so she could look at his dressing. No longer bright red, there didn't seem to be any more seepage from the wound through the dressing. "It looks better."

His only reply was a grunt as he forced himself up from the bed and refilled his water glass. She watched him. His movements were carefully measured but no longer unsteady. As sore as she was, she imagined he felt worse. After seeing the passenger side of the Explorer, she marveled that his injuries were not more serious.

He went into the bathroom, and when he came out, he retrieved his shaving bag. He could feel her eyes on him as he brushed his teeth and washed his face. He'd shave in the morning. Tomorrow night, come hell or high water, he was going to shower. Two days was enough. He looked at the dressing on his right side, touching it gingerly with the fingers of his left hand. His entire right side was badly bruised, with the most heavy bruising over the area of rib injury. His right eye was also bruised, and the bruising continued away from his face back into his hair. "What a mess," he muttered, grateful his partner had been spared more serious injury.

She stepped up to his side. "It's not so bad."

He looked down at her. "Are we looking at the same face?"

She smiled. "What are a few bruises? It gives you character."

"Character? That's what you call it?" He looked back at the mirror. "It looks like someone took a baseball bat to me."

"So—if anyone says anything, you tell 'em they should see the other guy."

He laughed softly, wincing at the flare of pain in his ribs. "Half of them will assume you're the 'other guy,' Eames."

"Then you tell them to be careful to never piss me off."

That got a real laugh from him, and a groan as he braced his side with his right arm. He looked at her again, studying her face as his pain faded. His tone was sincere. "Thank you, Eames."

"For making you laugh?"

"No. For being a voice of reason for me."

She squeezed his arm. "I'm not going to let you fall, partner."

She left his side and sat down on her bed, flipping on the television. "Look—Bogart!"

He smiled, turned off the light over the sink and returned to his bed. As the pain subsided, he relaxed and tried watching _The African Queen_ with her. He didn't last long before fading into a restful sleep.


	19. Closure

Eames had watched Goren get ready the next morning, and although she was stiff and sore, he was in outright pain. "Are you sure you want to drive home, Bobby? We can always hook a left at Cheyenne and fly out of Denver."

He shook his head. "I...need the time, Eames. We don't have to push it. I prefer driving...unless you're uncomfortable..."

"No, not at all. I was thinking of you. I'm just sore. You're in pain..."

She had that right, but his physical pain was the least of his problems. He waved a hand. "I'm fine. Let's get going."

The ride was quiet. She drove and he spent the day watching the Wyoming countryside pass by at 70 miles an hour. When she stopped for gas, he got out to stretch his legs and work out the stiffness in his muscles. She didn't miss the pain he was in, even though he tried to hide it. When they stopped to eat, he only took a few bites. He didn't have the stomach for food.

It was midafternoon before she finally convinced him to take something for the pain. An hour after that, he slept. She was worried about him.

When they stopped for the night in Lincoln, Nebraska, she insisted they share a room again, so she could watch him. He offered no argument. When they got to the room, she set her bag near the sink outside the bathroom. He dropped his beside the front door and laid down on the nearest bed. Grabbing the remote he flipped on the television and found the news.

While he watched the news, she went into the bathroom, showered and got ready for bed. When she came out, she brushed her teeth and headed over to her bed. Sliding between the sheets, she settled into the bed and looked at him, wondering if he'd even noticed she was done. "Bobby?"

The third time she called his name, he turned his head toward her. "Hm?"

"Bathroom's free."

He looked at her for a moment longer as he processed her words. Then he nodded and turned his attention back to the news. He was caught entirely off guard by the pillow that hit him in the head. He looked at her. "What was that for?"

"Hey, I finally got a reaction from you."

He looked confused. "What are you talking about?"

"You have barely said two words to me all day. What the hell is up with that? Did I do something wrong?"

He shook his head with a frown. "No...not at all."

"Then why won't you talk to me?"

"I..." He looked down at the pillow he was holding and held it out to her. She took it and he finished, "I'm sorry. It's not you."

"Do I have to tell you how many bad conversations I've had that began with that phrase?"

"What? It's _not_ you. I...have a lot on my mind."

"Adenauer?"

"Partly."

"You do realize that what she did was not your fault, don't you?"

He nodded. "I know. But I still feel bad about it."

"What else bothers you?"

"Mike...All he did was help us out, and he got stuck running interference with Ross...I feel bad about that."

"So do I. And?"

He shifted his eyes toward her. "And you, Eames."

"Me? What did I do?"

"You came with me, without question. You chased after me, without complaining. You...you took care of me, when I needed you." He shook his head slowly. "Thank you," he whispered softly.

"Don't feel guilty because I'm your partner. I chose to stay remember?"

"I remember. And I'm still grateful."

"So am I," she answered with a smile.

He looked at her and his face finally relaxed into a smile for her. With a heavy sigh he got up from the bed, grabbed his bag from beside the door and went into the bathroom to shower. After pulling the bandage off the wound in his side, he stepped into the shower. The hot water helped to relax his sore muscles although the open abrasions and the laceration in his side burned. After toweling off, he pulled on a pair of sweats and left the bathroom. In the mirror, he studied his side, which was oozing. Turning around, he started to ask Eames for help placing a fresh bandage over the injury, but he stopped and smiled. She was on her side, soundly sleeping in her bed. He sighed. His side would wait until morning. Walking between the beds, he leaned over, kissed her temple and whispered, "Good night, Eames."

Laying on his bed, he watched television until he fell asleep.

* * *

Two days later, they were back in New York. It was too late to go into the office when they got back, but Goren called Logan, asking him to meet them at his apartment, which Logan agreed to do. He was waiting for them when they got there.

Goren grinned. "You didn't waste any time getting over here."

"I was on my way home anyway. It was a short detour."

As they went into the apartment, Logan smiled at Eames. "Hey, sunshine."

She rolled her eyes. "Did I miss you?" she asked.

He looked wounded. "Aw, come on, Eames. You know you did."

She couldn't help smiling. "You're impossible, Logan."

"So I've been told." He called into the kitchen. "How are you feeling, Bobby?"

"Not great, but not as bad as I was feeling."

"How are your ribs?"

"They'd be better if someone would stop making me laugh."

"Hey, it's a good thing that you can laugh. You sure you're okay?"

He came out of the kitchen and they could smell coffee brewing. He handed Logan a beer. "I'm sure," he replied, easing himself down on the couch with a heavy sigh. "Still hurts, but it was worse."

"You guys are so lucky you were across the country when you crashed that car. I've made Ross turn some pretty shades of red, but not like he did when he found out what happened. The guy didn't know how to react. He calmed down once he found out Eames was driving. If it had been you or me behind the wheel," he told Goren. "Our heads would be adorning his wall." He grinned. "Last time he got that mad was the time I started that riot in the firehouse."

Eames shook her head. "You need to quit that, you know."

"I can't help it. That shit just comes to me."

Goren raised an eyebrow. "Intimating a firefighter is gay..." He shook his head. "You need to put some kind of stupidity meter in your brain, Mike."

"Preferably something with an external monitor. Then Wheeler or I can monitor the stupidity factor of what you're going to say and act accordingly."

Logan pointed at Goren. "You've gotten yourself in some trouble..."

"Not with incendiary remarks, stupid."

"Diversity is the spice of life."

"Your spice gives heartburn," Eames remarked.

He grinned. "Yeah, but it hurts so good."

He laughed when Goren threw a pillow from the couch at him. He caught the pillow and dropped down beside Goren, taking a drink from his beer. "You guys will be okay. Ross will stomp and snort in the morning, then he'll make sure you're both okay and send you back to work."

"We have a few loose ends to wrap up, and then we can close the file."

"Loose ends?"

Goren got quiet and Eames replied, "We have to find her next of kin. She left something behind and we need to deliver it."

For once, Logan had no retort.

* * *

Goren adjusted his jacket and looked at his partner. He was nervous, and she understood that. She gave him a soft smile of encouragement. He clipped his badge to the breast pocket of his jacket and they headed up the walk. Once on the porch, Eames rang the bell and they waited.

The door opened and a little girl of about six stood there staring at them. Then she called over her shoulder. "Mommy! Police are at the door."

Goren was taken aback by the resemblance of the woman who came to the door to her sister. She looked concerned, "May I help you, officers?"

Eames took the lead as she usually did, and Goren hung back, watching Larissa's sister, Tara McComber, and her little daughter. "Mrs. McComber, I'm Detective Eames and this is my partner, Detective Goren. We'd like to have a word with you, if we may."

"Holly, go check on your brother, please."

"Okay, Mommy."

She smiled at the two detectives and waved. Goren returned her smile and waved back, then became somber again as Tara stepped out onto the porch. "I would ask you in, but I would rather the children not hear this. What did Kevin do now?"

Goren shook his head. "Nothing we're aware of. We came to talk to you about your sister."

"Which one? Courtney or Larissa?"

"Larissa."

"I'm not sure I can be much help. I haven't talked to her in about two weeks."

"Are you close to your sister?" Goren asked, trying to gauge what the woman's reaction would be to the news they were about to deliver.

"As close as Larissa will let anyone get since her husband and daughter died. Why?"

Before Eames could say anything, Goren said, "I'm afraid there's been an accident."

Tara paled. "What kind of accident?"

Eames picked up on his intent and said, "She took a trip to Rockport."

Goren held out the envelope Larissa had placed in his pocket. With shaking hands, Tara opened it and read it. By the time she was done, there were tears streaming down her face. Mixed in with the grief was understanding. "Please, do you know...was she alone?"

Goren shook his head. "No. She wasn't alone."

She nodded her head and gripped the paper tightly in her hand. "Her body...?"

Eames answered, "It wasn't recovered."

Tara took a deep, calming breath. "Maybe now, she'll find peace."

"I hope so," Goren agreed.

Tara regarded him with soft eyes. "Did you know her, detective?"

"Briefly."

"Then you know she was a kind but tortured soul."

He nodded. "Yes, Mrs. McComber. I know."

As they left the McComber residence, Eames watched him carefully. "You okay?"

He nodded. "I'm okay, Eames. We're done now. We can close this case and move on."

"I'm good with that. Can you move on?"

He stopped on the other side of the car and looked over the hood at her. "I can move on."

She smiled at him, and when he smiled back, she knew for certain that he was sincere. He was letting himself find closure; he was finally learning to let go. It was time to move on.

_fin._


End file.
